


Sagebrush & Concrete

by CarryOn_CarryOut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Curses, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hanzo Shimada has Prosthetic Legs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Panic Attacks, Partial Nudity, Pharmercy if you squint, Post-Recall, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarryOn_CarryOut/pseuds/CarryOn_CarryOut
Summary: Their worlds and pasts are full of graves and secrets best left buried.  Ones covered in either sagebrush or covered by concrete.Hanzo Shimada and Jesse McCree are only two men, trying to survive as well as navigate the daily occurances of Watchpoint: Gibraltar.This is prematurely rated M for somewhat graphic descriptions of injuries and violence, mental health angst, some inapropriate jokes, lots of drinking and swearing, and some non-sexual nudity (I put it in the tags as well)





	1. Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to my occasional editor and full time friend, Ryuity, who has been encouraging me throughout the writing process. Also a thanks to those that take the time to read this.

Hanzo shut the door behind him. He looked around the small room. A white desk. A loft bed above the desk, jutting out from the gray wall, with a sturdy orange ladder leading up to it. The room was about the size of a walk-in closet.

Hanzo placed his "guitar" case across the desk.

He began to wonder if joining Overwatch was actually a good idea after all. Surely, he had much to consider. If Genji's forgiveness was only to lull him into a false sense of security, so be it. If his brother decided to kill him, Hanzo would kneel and take the force of the blow. Perhaps this was a chance to reconcile with his brother, to mend the rift that Hanzo had made between them after all these years.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Hanzo thought to himself.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Spurs, close by. It was muffled but distinct. Hanzo had been lost in thought for a moment and was staring at the door. There was a knock.

"Agent Jesse McCree is at your door," Athena said with a level voice

Hanzo opened the door manually.

"Howdy Shimada-san. I just- I brought you some food, in case you're hungry." McCree offered the plate up, then added, "Genji said that you probably wouldn't show up to eat if there was other people around." The gunslinger still rested one hand on his hip, near, but not on, his gun.

"Thank you, Mr. McCree," Hanzo bowed his head slightly.

Hanzo kept his eyes cast to the ground. There was a beat of silence. McCree cleared his throat again.

"You listen here, and you listen real good." The taller man said as he pulled his gun and spun it around for show. "If I see hair nor hide of you causing trouble, you’ll be receivin’ six bullets between your ears faster than you can say 'draw'."

Hanzo looked at the McCree's gun, there was indeed a spur on the end of it like he had thought.

"Understood." Hanzo’s gaze met the gunslinger's mouth, it was twisted into a wry expression. Hanzo looked away.

McCree walked away silently.

Once the door was closed, Hanzo looked at the plate filled with rice and vegetables.

"This is my redemption. My second chance," he scoffed to himself as he set the plate next to his guitar case.

 

Sleep did not come easy for the archer. The smallest of sounds woke Hanzo up. His legs hurt, so he shifted onto his side. The next thing he knew was dreaming.

The sound of prosthetics tapped across the floor of his home. Genji was there, the metal of his faceplate morphing into a metal band across green hair. Scars morphed into light, unblemished skin.

"Good morning brother." Genji chirped in English.

" _Mourning_ ," Hanzo corrected in curt Japanese.

There was something different with Genji's hair. Hanzo wondered _was_ it still green? Maybe pink. There was an odd moment where the Genji he knew now was juxtaposed over the younger image of Hanzo's brother.

Hanzo heard a quiet clink near his door, and he awoke, suddenly sitting up.

The knife he had slipped under his pillow was in his hand now, and he was defensively curled up in the corner of the loft. A knock came at his door, and Athena piped up from a speaker in the wall.

"Agent Genji is at the door," the AI said, almost hopeful sounding.

"Thank you," Hanzo sighed as he started to descend the orange ladder, leaving the knife on the bed.

There was no clock in sight, so Hanzo had no idea if it was day or night. He walked quietly and quickly. His legs throbbed from having his prosthetics on for so long. Hanzo opened the door tentatively, unsure of Genji’s intent.

Genji's faceplate and much of his armor had been removed, replaced instead by a soft pink hoodie and a pair of plaid pajama pants. In his scarred left arm there was a cup of tea. In his prosthetic was his comm. His face was full of scars that Hanzo gave him. Genji was smiling at his brother as if none of that mattered.

For a moment, Hanzo considered that maybe it didn't matter, maybe the world was new and bright and golden in his brother's eyes. Hanzo wanted to see himself the way Genji saw him: able to be forgiven.

" _Hello_ ," Hanzo spoke in Japanese, smiling softly and looking Genji in the eyes.

" _Good evening brother_!" Genji beamed back at him; it hurt Hanzo's heart.

Genji beckoned for Hanzo to come out of his room.

 

Jesse McCree did not consider himself a creature of habit. Jesse figured that habits were expensive. Coffee from the mess hall? Approximately 38 cents per cup, plus adding any creamer or sugar. His cigarillos, coming in a box of 50, cost him 29 dollars.

Sleepless nights, an old habit, could cost him his life. 

There was a knock at his door. He immediately had Peacekeeper in his hands.

"Agent Genji and Agent Hanzo Shimada are at the door."

"Thank ya kindly, Athena," Jesse grumbled as he rubbed his eyes. He slipped his holster over his pajama pants and put Peacekeeper inside it. When he went over to open the door, Genji was giving him a stern look through the peephole.

He opened the door and the stern look multiplied by ten.

"I heard you threatened Hanzo," accused Genji.

Jesse glared at Hanzo, who was looking at Genji with wide-eyed wonder. Something akin to anger flashed in Hanzo's eyes, and then the archer pulled out his comm.

"From who?" McCree asked as he adjusted his holster.

"A little birdie," Genji said cryptically as he crossed his arms.

"Are you that lil bird?" Jesse continued to look at Hanzo. Hanzo shook his head no, and Jesse crossed his arms as well.

"We are settling this." Genji pointed a finger from his free hand at Jesse. "I'm gonna kick your ass, McCree."

"It's too goddamn late for this bullshit!" Jesse protested, throwing his arm outwards slightly.

"Nuh-Uh, none of that," Genji said as he started to swagger down the hallway.

"Either come with me or I'll kick your ass in your room, which will be worse for you," taunted the cyborg.

Jesse moved to follow after Genji but there was an issue- Hanzo stood in Jesse's way.

"I swear I told him nothing," Hanzo barked out. The look on Hanzo's face could convince statues to crumble. Jesse was sure he wore a similar expression himself.

"Yeah?" Jesse exclaimed- like he would believe that. Hanzo pulled his comm up and shoved it in Jesse's face.

A conversation log between Hanzo and Athena. Athena said that she had told Genji about-

"Well shit," Jesse whistled.

"Athena must have overheard our-". Hanzo paused and then finished hesitantly, "conversation."

"Sorry for accusing you," it was out of Jesse's mouth before he could stop it.

"There is no more reason for you to fight Genji?" Hanzo asked with a small, hopeful cant to his head.

"No- there is," Jesse admitted, adjusting his folded arms and leaning against the doorway, "I fucked up, shouldn't've threatened ya."

Loathe as Jesse was to admit it, but Hanzo Shimada was attractive. The small bottom lip slightly jutting out as he thought about something, the graying sideburns, the well-trimmed beard, the ink on his arm. It was all very aesthetically pleasing.

Jesse hated Hanzo. It was a guttural feeling of intense rage, coiling and twisting low in Jesse's abdomen like a snake about to strike. Jesse had considered punching Hanzo then for what he had done to Genji, but then Hanzo Shimada turned his eyes to Jesse's and all of the rage turned cold and apathetic.

"You are forgiven by me,  I do not know if Genji will accept that, however," Hanzo said remorsefully.

Most of the rage seeped out from Jesse in a low sigh, but something still made him consider beating the living shit out of the older Shimada.

"Hurry up, McCree!" Genji called from down the hallway.

"I guess I'll have the chance to beat up one Shimada, not the one that I want to though," Jesse thought as he elbowed past Hanzo.

Jesse wouldn't admit it to Genji, given the circumstances, but he had thought to himself a few times that he had missed going toe to toe with the Japanese devil.

That phrase sparked the memory of Genji dressing up as an Oni for Halloween; if Jesse's memory served correctly, it was the same year that he had dressed up as Van Helsing.

"Hey Genj'," Jesse hollered as he jogged to catch up with the ninja. Genji turned to look at him but continued to walk.

"Remember that one Halloween you drank like a fish and then ended up puking all over my costume?" Jesse asked conversationally

"I remember it, but why bring it up?" Genji cocked his head to the side questioningly, his voice was harsh. He was obviously upset about the whole threatening thing. Jesse remembered him saying much harsher threats in their Blackwatch days together.

They walked side by side. Hanzo walked behind them silently with his arms crossed.

"Just thinking we could do that again," Jesse suggested.

"The puking part or the costume part?" Genji laughed.

"Both?" Jesse suggested, feeling a smile spread across his face.

"I do not see why there is the need for you two to fight-" Hanzo protested.

Jesse started to say "There isn't one," but was cut off quickly by Genji guiding him into the training room.

"There is every reason to fight, brother. At least for what is right," Genji said, rounding the corner to a bench and setting his tea down onto it.

Genji's pink sweatshirt came off revealing a pattern of scars that Jesse was familiar with. Hanzo coughed and looked away.

Jesse assumed why.

The fight was short.

Jesse threw a haymaker, Genji dodged it and gave Jesse a swift, open-palmed hit to the nose. Copper taste dribbled down into Jesse's mouth and beard, and he began laughing. Genji got tackled, but rolled with the motion and Jesse was now on his back and Genji was on his feet. 

"You aren't going to threaten Hanzo again?"

"Nah, I'm good," Jesse answered, standing up. God, he already felt like shit.

"Good," Genji said as he tripped Jesse and punched him in the face again.

Jesse twisted his legs around and the ninja tumbled down laughing. Jesse rolled on top of Genji and began to punch him. Genji pulled some kind of freak move and then was on top of Jesse and punching him in the face.

Hanzo was yelling something short in Japanese and pulling Genji off. 

Genji looked at his brother, concern dancing in his eyes. Hanzo appeared furious. Jesse smiled, happy to no longer be under Genji's wrath.

There was a moment where no one spoke. Jesse smiled as he leaned his head forward and bled over the floor. Hanzo gestured at Jesse and asked something to Genji in Japanese; Genji shrugged.

"Are you alright, Mr. McCree?" Hanzo worriedly asked.

"Yeah, just haven't had my ass kicked in a while," Jesse chirped as he wiped his mouth with the back of his flesh hand.

Jesse was beaming, sore, tired, but filled with an addictive sort of energy. Hanzo pulled Genji out of the room gently, while talking hurriedly in quiet Japanese.


	2. Kindred Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo spends a sleepless night thinking about the day that he arrived at the watchpoint. He later eats breakfast with an assortment of Overwatch agents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to my sister, who made fun of me until I posted this chapter.

Hanzo retained a silent vigil as night ticked slowly over to day, nursing a bottle of decent quality sake.

"Start over, at the beginning," he thought to himself. It was an exercise in memory and was entirely routine at this point.

No use thinking about that day, about what he had done- _the blood on his hands and the blood staining his clothes- his brother's warbled cries. The slicing pain in his legs as Genji used the last of his strength to summon his spirit dragon. Pain._ Think about something else.

 _Genji's scars criss-crossing across his chest and arm, too much. Too open, he's too open, what if Hanzo_ \- he realized he was hyperventilating, his skin felt too tight and too hot for his body. _Hanzo's legs hurt. He was on fire, he was on fire and all he could think about was the blood stain forming around Genji on the floor._

"No," He said out loud. He knew where this memory would lead him.

He pushed himself up from the desk and away from the bottle of sake that he had been drinking. He repeated his new mantra of "Genji is safe, Genji is alive. I am safe, I am alive." Hanzo hadn't realized just how broken he was until this point. He forced himself to think about something else. The last meal he ate- a safe topic. He had had rice with edamame, vegetables, and pork. He had a strawberry flavored water to go with it.

The dragons beneath his skin roared with static. Hanzo clutched his head.

"How had he gotten here?" was a question he asked himself while traveling. That was another safe topic.

-

It was a bright day when Hanzo's transport landed at Watchpoint Gibraltar. He had a headache, undoubtedly from stress, but he was in a hopeful mood. His heart had soared when the Watchpoint came into view.

"We will be landing in a tick," said the pilot, Tracer, she had asked to be called. The young pilot seemed to not be too chatty, only asking for his name and giving her own.The small aircraft, The Aurora, was cramped and warm, and Hanzo yearned to be back on the ground again.

"Thank you," he said, voice heavy with anticipation and dread.

When they landed, Genji was there. He held out a hand to help Hanzo out of the airplane. Hanzo took it tentatively and jumped out of the aircraft. They looked at each other. Hanzo dropped his guitar case onto the floor.

"Brother, may I hug you?" Genji asked. Hanzo nodded. He had noted that at some point Tracer had disappeared.

Genji was warm. His armored plating was smooth, and hard, yet warm to the touch like skin. "It's very organic," Hanzo thought as he dumbly stood there being hugged by his younger brother.

" _Gomenasai,_ " Hanzo couldn't help but let out the phrase. He hadn't cried since the day that he washed Genji's blood from his hands. Now he struggled to stop the tears from forming. His breath had struggled in his chest, and his eyes began to flood with water. The first tears formed and fell, and more followed. His brother, Genji, had forgiven him, was alive, and was hugging him and- Hanzo was overwhelmed and shaking. Genji was warm. Genji had been warm. 

-

" _Gomenasai_ " Hanzo said the same phrase as he had that day as he went over the memory. Hanzo's hair had come loose, and was falling over his shoulders in ebony rivers. He began to remember, slipping further into a tear filled fit.

-

Hanzo hugged his brother back, tilting his head up to keep from crying onto Genji's shoulder. Genji patted the middle of Hanzo's back gently, and pulled away. Hanzo rubbed at his face with the sleeve of his shirt. The shadow cast over them by the plane's wing made Genji's visor light look like a glowing line of accusation, yet when he talked, his voice was soft.

" _Thank you, Hanzo, for being here_." Genji said in tinny sounding Japanese as he patted Hanzo's tattooed upper arm.

" _I'm sorry_ ," was all Hanzo managed to choke out again. Genji took off his visor, and placed it in onto the seat of the airplane.

" _Hanzo, I am sorry that the elders forced you to make an attempt on my life_ ," Genji stated serenely, his voice no longer robotic sounding.

" _What? How did you know about that?_ " Hanzo asked.

" _I dismantled the Shimada empire looking for you, yet every time I found traces of you, you were gone. I learned it from the people I killed_." Genji admitted, his eyes downcast.

" _I also hunted down the people who forced me to raise my sword against you. I own my mistake, but I wish for peace between us._ " Hanzo said, looking his brother in the eyes.

" _This is our chance at that, brother. Overwatch is made of second chances_ ," Genji said, sounding hopeful.

-

Even though he knew that his brother and him had spent hours out there together talking and crying. Time passed by in a blur - the memories became fuzzy to recall. Oddly enough, Hanzo found that his mind drifted to the gunslinger then.

-

A man wearing a cowboy hat, a poncho looking thing, blue jeans, and spurs walked up to them. A lit cigar poked out from between his rough looking lips.

"Howdy," said the cowboy.

"Hello McCree! Meet my brother, Shimada Hanzo," Genji switched to English and presented Hanzo with a wave of his hand, and Hanzo bowed slightly, more than a nod, but less than a full body bow. There was a beat of silence before anyone spoke again. Hanzo was aware of the fact that both his brother and "McCree", the cowman, were looking at him.

"Is calling you Hanzo-san, ok? Or would you prefer for me to call you Shimada-san?" McCree drawled, resting one hand dangerously close to his revolver.

Hanzo thought calmly to himself that he was being shown fangs by a wild animal. They wild look in the man's amber eyes surely made Hanzo feel like he was being hunted. Yet Hanzo stood still, and straightened his back.

"Hanzo-san is ok. Thank you," Hanzo had flashed as genuine a smile as possible, and the man looked slightly taken aback by it.

"McCree, Jesse McCree. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

McCree smiled, and extended his metal hand towards Hanzo. Hanzo shook his hand and was met with a near crushing grip. The cowboy still had something wild in his eyes. It was as if he was saying "Do something, I dare you". Hanzo had every intention of proving to McCree that he could be civil and stay out of trouble.

"McCree will show you to your room. You can call either him or me on the comm if you have any questions," Genji explained as Hanzo fished the comm out of his pocket. Hanzo had been given the comm on the flight, yet he knew little about it besides that there was an AI on it called Athena. Athena liked to tell horrible puns. As far as Hanzo could tell, there was much more to the AI then what he had discovered.

"Thank you. I will hopefully see you later?" Hanzo asked Genji, remaining in English for McCree's sake.

"Of course. See you in the morning, brother." Genji turned and grabbed his face plate from the airplane seat before walking out of the the large room labeled as Hangar 18.

"Do you know how to work the comm? Try and give me a call," McCree drawled. Hanzo obliged. Taping the device several times before a small ding from a similar device in McCree's hand filled the space around them. "Alright, that about settles it," huffed McCree around his small cigar, "I'll show you to your room."

"Thank you, Mr. McCree," Hanzo said as he bowed again.

-

At some point while thinking about the gunslinger, Hanzo noticed that he had stopped crying. He was sat on the floor, his head resting on his curled up knees. A completely expected emptiness stuck to his ribs.

" _The cowman is a safe topic_?" Hanzo questioned himself out loud. His question was met with an angry rumble beneath his skin.

" _Kindred spirits_ ," growled the Dragons in their twin voices. The sound always hurt, too loud and splitting for Hanzo's brain to wrap itself around. Sun filtered in through the small window, casting a square of light onto the charcoal floor.

"Athena?" Hanzo asked to the air around him.

"What may I assist you with, Hanzo?" The AI spoke without a beat of pause.

"What time is it?" Hanzo questioned.

"It is 7:33 in the morning, local time," stated Athena cooly.

Hanzo thanked the AI as he ran his hands through his hair. He slipped the comm piece into his ear and stood up. Hanzo left his dorm, looking both ways down the hallway to look for a bathroom. The empty, cobwebbed watchpoint pointed him in the right direction with helpful signs.

He entered the tiled room quickly so that he could freshen up. Rows and rows of shower stalls greeted him, and a long counter of sinks stood flush against the wall. Hanzo went to one of the sinks and splashed some water on his face. His graying sideburns looked like wings sticking out from the sides of his head, he attempted to smooth them down some.

"Commander Winston is requesting a call. Shall I tell him you are busy at the moment?" Athena asked from his earpiece.

"No, connect," Hanzo went to exit the bathroom.

"Hanzo Shimada!" Winston said excitedly in his gravelly voice.

"Yes, Agent Winston?" Hanzo pressed the earpiece into his ear with one hand and began to make the trek back to his room.

"I- uh, I just wanted to ask if you would be joining us for breakfast today?" the scientist asked hesitantly.

"If I am invited, I will come," Hanzo stated as he rounded a corner.

"Of course! We are making pancakes, would do you like any specific toppings? There will be... uh peanut butter, bananas- yeah bananas, blueberries, ah, chocolate chips, and strawberries," Winston listed over the comm.

"Thank you, Winston. No, I am content with whatever. When is breakfast?" Hanzo asked. He heard noise coming from down the hall.

"Uh, whenever, some people are eating now, some later, but we are cooking now," Winston's said nonchalantly.

Hanzoo stood in front of his room and realized that the mess hall was incredibly close by. A straight walk to there and then a turn. He could see light pouring out of the room and he could hear low mummers of contentment. The scrape of fork against plate, the clink of glass and the running of water.

"I will come," Hanzo huffed as he forced his legs to carry him the rest of the way to the mess hall. He tapped his comm twice and it beeped to signify that the call had ended.

The noises stopped as Hanzo stepped into the room. Winston smiled at him meekly, showing large canine teeth. Genji was sitting at a table with a blonde person wearing a doctors lab coat. Alongside her was an omnic wearing monk-like clothing. The blonde glared at Hanzo, and the omnic handed the doctor a shining golden ball. Hanzo remembers reading about Dr. Angela Ziegler, the doctor who created the caduceus technology.

She visibly relaxed some, and muttered a thank you to the omnic monk as she sipped her coffee.

The cowboy was standing in from of the stove, his attention turned to Hanzo briefly and then back to the pancake he was flipping. A simple white apron spanned across McCree's hips, tied in the back. McCree had a busted lip and a black eye the day before, yet no visible sign of them marred his face now.

Winston cleared his throat awkwardly.

Surprisingly it was the cowboy who broke the silence. "Hanzo-san, would you like a pancake?"

"Yes please. Thank you," Hanzo smiled politely.

"Sit wherever," McCree said, as he slid a pancake off of a plate, "Also git yourself something to drink, if'n you want."

Hanzo reached into the fridge and got out another strawberry flavored water. McCree handed Hanzo a plate with three pancakes stacked high. Hanzo walked to leave the room, yet Genji called out for him in Japanese.

" _Leaving so soon, brother?_ " Genji asked before bringing his bottle of Ramune up to his lips.

" _I am not welcomed_ ," Hanzo said, and it was the truth, the Doctor had resumed glaring at him.

"Nonsense!" Genji said in English, and he patted the spot next to him, "Come sit here."

Hanzo obeyed.

"Good morning. Hanzo, at your service." He bowed his head slightly to the two other people sitting at the table.

"Good morning, Hanzo-san," the omnic greeted in their tinny voice, "My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta."

"It is a pleasure," Hanzo said. There was a pause when Hanzo looked over at the doctor.

"My name is Angela Ziegler," she stated coldly, taking another sip of her coffee.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Dr. Ziegler," Hanzo said.

The pancakes were delicious, sweet, and fluffy.

"Hanzo-san," Winston tapped him on the shoulder once he was done eating.

"Yes?" responded Hanzo, as he stood and took his plate to the sink. McCree took it from him and rinsed it off before putting it into a dishwasher.

"I would like to talk to you and McCree in my office," the scientist said it loud enough for McCree to hear over the running water.

"Sure thing, Winston. Just give us a sec to finish up and then we'll mosey on down to your office," the cowboy spoke, shutting the water off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this without running it through my editor first. So if there are any mistakes, I apologize.


	3. Bow Ties

The cowboy and the archer walked in silence. Jesse thought to himself that the two of them looked a little like the characters of one of his favorite movies. It was made in the 2030's, and then a remake was made later on in the 50's. The movie was about a cowboy and an archer who begrudgingly worked on the same side of the law after a series of hilarious events. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember how it ended.

Jesse wondered briefly if this was about him threatening Hanzo. It would make sense, given the fact that the extent of the HR branch now was one AI system and a scientist ape. Hanzo turned to Winston's office and the door slid open with a hiss.

They both stepped into the darkened room, and Athena brought the lights up some.

"Good morning Agents," Athena called out in her saccharine voice.

Hanzo made a small sounding 'hmph' of acknowledgment.

"Morning 'thena. Morning Winston," Jesse hummed, trying to sound unworried.

"Good morning! Sorry to have to call you into my office so shortly after breakfast- uh, let me see, where is it?" The ape tapped at the keys of his keyboard hurriedly, calling out in his gravelly voice.

"Take your time," Jesse called out to where he thought Winston was. He rounded the corner to see that Winston was still typing away on his computer.

"I need to discuss with you two the training schedule that you will be keeping from today forwards." Winston pushed up his glasses.

"What do you wish to discuss about the schedules?" Hanzo flipped through his comm, seeming to be only half interested in what Winston was about to say.

"You will be training together in simulations from now on for at least 3 hours a day. In addition to a few other various team-building exercises," Winston said as he continued to type.

"Woah there, hold up a sec, " Jesse put his hands in his pockets with the thumbs out, and then asked, "Is this some kind of punishment?"

"Believe me, I am not happy with you right now, McCree." Winston huffed, clearly annoyed.

"Fair enough," Jesse said, putting his hands up as a barrier. Jesse didn't like seeing Winston angry at him.

"But ah, this isn't technically a punishment though, no. I would have assigned another agent to Hanzo. However, you have clearly shown that you would not work well with him willingly, so we need to, uh, fix that," The ape explained.

"Fine," Jesse said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"According to my calculations, Agent Hanzo and Agent McCree will eventually work well together, in theory," Athena spoke from the computer's face.

"Thank you, Athena," Hanzo grumbled.

"The details will be forwarded to your comms," Winston gestured halfheartedly with one hairy hand.

"For how long?" Hanzo asked Winston, crossing his toned arms over his pecs.

Hanzo was wearing the same short-sleeved muscle shirt that he wore when he came to the Watchpoint. The bags under Hanzo's eyes were visibly worse, slightly puffy and red.

"Good," thought Jesse, "That bastard deserves poor sleep." If only Jesse could get one good night curled up in his own bed.

"You two will be training together for as long as I determine. I am known to be quite fair. Know that if any more threats or mischief happens, I will know about them," Athena said as she brought up the necessary evidence to back up her claim. The holoscreen glimmered in the dim lighting.

A list of Jesse McCree's previous run-ins with the AI's benevolence flickered by, each new citation popping over another. Evidence of him threatening Gabriel Reyes before he joined Blackwatch. Evidence of him punching out a guy for making fun of Genji's enhancements. Evidence of a whole lotta trouble.

"Fuck," Jesse exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "look, this just went from bad, to worse, to absolute bullshit."

It was going to be a long time before Jesse got the rest that he needed.

 

Jesse had tried to be reasonable and give the archer a chance. Neither of them took it well.

The archer moved too quickly, about as quick as Genji, and it frustrated Jesse when Hanzo took out two training bots that he specifically called out as his. They both had competitive streaks. Hanzo Shimada was a mean onofabitch, and it felt as if they were working against each other for most of the simulation until Athena paused it, causing the bots to slump where they floated.

She then demanded that they work together.

The radio silence that Hanzo provided over the comms did nothing to soothe Jesse's sore nerves. He couldn't see the archer from his vantage point on the ground, but arrows flying by Jesse told him that Hanzo was still up on his perch.

Jesse had made a comment, more to himself than to Hanzo, that was slightly amusing. Hanzo had let out a bark of a laugh and then had the gall to chuckle when Jesse was caught off guard by it.

Athena tallied their score up and gave them a C+. It was well below Jesse's normal satisfactory score.

"Did you know it is common for two archers to score the same?" Hanzo deadpanned, sounding disinterested in the conversation, seemed to be a trend.

"No, I didn't know that," Jesse said, equally uninterested as he unloaded training bullets from Peacekeeper for the last time that day.

"It is true, Bow Ties are back in style," Hanzo had smirked. A slight cant to his lips that frustrated Jesse to no end. The Shimada heir did not deserve any form of happiness he derived from making jokes to Jesse.

Jesse purposefully didn't laugh. Instead, he turned and left the training room.

Sweaty and tired, Jesse groaned as he sat on his bed. It was a few hours before dinner, and Jesse reeked. Jesse decided to do what any water-loving man from the dry desert would do if given the opportunity and the time. He decided to take a bath. Who knew when he would next get the chance to unwind for a few hours? He certainly didn't.

The bathroom was past the elder Shimada's room and down the hall to the right. Jesse had hoped not to run into him and was happy when he made it to the bathroom without even a glance at Hanzo's door.

Rows of sinks and showers lined the hall. Jesse hooked another right to the locker room part of it, familiar with the layout of the bathrooms. They were almost entirely universal from watchpoint to watchpoint, except for that one in Alabama.

Firstly, Jesse grabbed a towel from a large, bookcase-like shelf that was stacked high with large white towels.

Secondly, he unhooked his prosthetic. The pneumatic sigh of the seal disconnecting almost drowned out the pinched nerve feeling as he unhooked the fake nerves from the nerve plate. It hurt like a bitch, but he couldn't exactly relax if he was busy worrying about the sealant coat on the articulating wrist joint as he was soaking.

He stored his prosthetic inside locker number 332, which was tucked away in the corner. He heard the sound of someone talking. He turned around to see Winston and Hanzo walk into the locker room. He lowered his hand off of Peacekeeper.

Winston was holding a small container of what appeared to be body wash, conditioner, and other self-care items. Hanzo was empty-handed but quickly fixed that situation by grabbing two towels from the same stack that Jesse had.

"Howdy?" Jesse said hesitantly. Hanzo handed a towel to Winston wordlessly. Only acknowledging Jesse once the small kind act was done.

"Hello, Mr. McCree," Hanzo said as Winston chose a locker on the opposite wall.

"It's uh, funny to see you actually," Winston said, removing the first layer of his spacesuit.

"You showing Hanzo-san around the Watchpoint? I'd offer you a hand, but- " Jesse waggled his stump around for emphasis on the joke.

Winston snorted as he removed his suit's torso piece.

Hanzo began to strip as well, and Jesse took that to be the final sign that they weren't leaving.

He turned his back to look at his locker. Jesse pulled his t-shirt up over his head with a quick jerking motion. He undid he holster and slid both his guns and holster into his locker with a thunk. Jesse sat down on the nearby bench to wrestle with his boot. He was glad that he wasn't wearing his usual chaps or chestpiece. He removed his socks with very little grace, tugging and pulling until he got them over the heel of his foot. Then Jesse was just in his pants and underwear.

Hanzo made a short gruff sounding noise. Jesse realized that the archer must have seen the patchwork of scars on Jesse's back.

"Let 'im look," the gruff voice of Jesse's father, that piece of shit, permeated the air between Jesse's ears.

The scars weren't all his father's fault, no. That shit stain on his life only made the small pockmark cigarette butt scars across Jesse's back and shoulders, the larger ones were years of combat.

Soft footfalls and the slap of Winston's feet against floor were heard leaving the locker room and heading towards the showers.

"Hanzo-san, just to be clear, I use the shower before getting into the bath?" Winston asked softly.

Jesse took off his pants and underwear and wrapped them up and shoved them into his already overstuffed locker. He pulled the towel around his waist and stepped into the long hall of shower stalls.

"That is correct. The bath isn't so much to clean yourself, as it is a place to relax," explained Hanzo quietly, and then he added, "that is, at least, in Japanese culture."

Hanzo stepped into the shower, paused for a moment and then Jesse heard the spray of the shower begin.

"Huh," Winston muttered.

"Is this your first time taking a bath, Winston?" Jesse asked, astonished.

"Yes, actually," answered the scientist.

"There are so many jokes I can make about that," Jesse sneered. Winston huffed and went into a stall a little way down from Hanzo.

McCree followed suit, feeling slightly awkward about his previous plan to just take a bath and not shower beforehand.

He turned on the cold spray, glad that the water pressure only faltered slightly before resuming to thunder down onto his skin. He rinsed the hot sweat off of himself. He lathered his hands up with a pump of the body wash on the wall and rubbed under his armpits and other odorous zones. The body wash was neutral smelling, but it was also clean and crisp like Autumn air. Jesse lathered some into his hair and closed his eyes against the cold.

The creak of the faucet turning off told Jesse that Hanzo was done. Jesse rinsed the last of the body wash out of his hair and then turned his faucet off. Jesse wrapped the towel around his waist before exiting the shower stall. He never did like being completely naked around others- even back in his prime.

Winston hummed a cheery little tune quietly to himself, steam rolled out from under the door of his stall. Jesse smiled. At least the big guy was enjoying himself.

Hanzo was in the high walled tub by the time that Jesse arrived.

The gunslinger walked to the similar looking tub across the aisle and climbed the steps up and around the tub. A small bench like shelf was there, and Jesse lowered himself down onto it, plopping his feet into the hot water.

Hanzo was already bright red from face to chest. He was turned slightly away. His hair was up, high and away from the water. Hanzo's towel was placed on the shelf behind him.

Jesse lowered himself into the tub, keeping his towel wrapped firmly around his waist. He groaned as the water enveloped him. He damn near choked out a sob because it was his first real bath i years. He'd showered plenty, but baths weren't high on his list of priorities during those years away from Overwatch. Jesse's mind drifted for a moment, blissed out from the heat of the water on his skin.

Hanzo untied his hair and readjusted his ponytail. That certainly wasn't the standard high and tight that Overwatch had insisted on in the past. Jesse couldn't help but imagine Hanzo with hair shorter than Jesse's own hair. Maybe it would do something for the graying sideburns. Keep the beard, but fade it into a styled undercut maybe?

"That'd be a sight to behold," Jesse thought to himself. Hanzo turned his eyes to Jesse, and Jesse realized that he'd been staring at the back of Hanzo's head.

"What?" barked out the older Shimada.

"Just thinking that you'd look good with an undercut or somethin'," Jesse found himself talking freely.

He held no anger for Hanzo right now, at least, not yet. Jesse was too relaxed to be angry. The warmth worked something loose in his chest and he realized he didn't have to be angry at Hanzo. Genji had already forgiven Hanzo and was adamant enough about it to beat Jesse up. People deserved second chances.

"I do not believe I would be able to pull it off successfully," Hanzo turned back, sinking himself down into the water slightly.

"Now that's bull hockey," Jesse said as Winston started to sing.

"Bull- what?" Hanzo asked, a confused ring in his voice.

"Bullhockey. Horse shit. Bologna," Jesse listed. Winston had stopped singing. There was a moment of pause as Hanzo processed what Jesse said.

"Thank you," came the almost inaudible reply from Hanzo.

"No problem," Jesse drawled.

The shower turned off down the hall and the slap of palms against tile forewarned the ape's entrance. Winston took one look at the tub and put his hand in.

"Houston, uh, we have a problem," grumbled the scientist ape as he held onto his towel around his waist.

"What is it?" Hanzo sighed, leaning against the high wall of the tub.

"If I get in the tub it'll overflow," Winston gestured to the water level, already precariously high.

"I believe it is big enough to fit you," the archer argued, and then pointed over to the floor behind Winston. "There is a drain on the floor, do not worry about it overflowing."

"Ah! There is?" Winston turned to look and then nodded his head.

Winston stepped into the tub, arguing with his towel for a moment before placing it behind him like Hanzo had done. The scientist groaned as the hot water came up to his armpits and then to his shoulders and neck. The water did overflow out in a few small splashes.

The hot water made Jesse's head spin slightly, but it was a good kind of dizzy, and he was enjoying himself. Jesse closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the cool wall of the tub.


	4. Revelations from Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several conversations and several small revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment even if it is just button smashing. I love when people comment on the stuff that I write. If it is something critical of my work- I will attempt to fix it.

McCree was annoying Hanzo by loudly whistling. Hanzo assumed it was some Western song because he did not recognize it. The cowboy had a small lit cigar in his hand and was taking puffs from it occasionally while resting his other hand on his gun.

Hanzo focused, looking at McCree from his perch stories above. The cowboy was leaning against a rising block that took on the look of a building for the simulation.

  
Both of them were taking a small break from the simulation, having been swarmed with too many bots to handle before and being too overrun to complete the simulation's mission.

They hadn't been doing well. Hanzo supposed it was because both of them were too used to working on their own. They figuratively butted heads anytime Athena scored them. They directed the blame at each other, and for lack of better words, they were at each other's throats.

Hanzo could see every detail of the gunslinger with his enhanced vision. Some might say that Jesse McCree was ruggedly handsome. Some might be wrong. "Infuriating" would be the word that Hanzo would choose to describe how McCree looked.

A bright splash of red across the cowman's shoulders in the form of a cape-like poncho thing. A pair of jeans and chaps that looked like something straight out of a Western movie. It all added together to become one infuriating Jesse McCree. McCree had two guns, resting in their holsters across, wide, sturdy hips. One of the guns had a spur on the end of it.

The other gun Hanzo had not seen used yet. He assumed it was something precious to the cowboy judging by the way his thumb brushed mindlessly over the end of it.

The archer grumbled, nocking and drawing an arrow back to his cheek in one fluid motion.

McCree tilted his head to Hanzo. He moved his gaudy hat back with his equally gaudy prosthetic. The gunslinger looked Hanzo squarely in the face and tapped at his ear.

"You know your arrows are blunted." Hanzo heard McCree as if he was right next to him. There was a pause, filled to the brim with waiting.

"You can shoot me if ya really want to, but it ain't gonna do much but piss me off," drawled McCree.

Hanzo let loose the arrow that he'd drawn, sending it soaring through the air.

McCree didn't move, not a single inch. The cowboy's treasured hat fell onto the floor next to him and the arrow clattered to the ground with it.

"Fucker," McCree laughed, a fake and plastic sound, as he went to reach for his hat.

"Stop whistling," Hanzo commanded instead of asking.

"Sure thing, you fucking lunatic," McCree spit.

Jesse placed his hat back onto his head and leaned back against the wall, hat obscuring his face. Hanzo crouched down back behind his cover.

"I apologize for shooting at you." Hanzo gruffed out, then added "however, I asked you to stop three times, and yet you continued to whistle- at night."

"What have you got against whistling at night?" McCree questioned, the previous bitterness to his voice was replaced with curiosity.

"It is- _kuso_ , what is the word?" Hanzo snapped his fingers as he tried to remember.McCree, helpfully, did not say anything.

"It is a supercitation," Hanzo said hesitantly.

"Superstition?" questioned McCree.

"It is a superstition," Hanzo paused, making sure he got the word right this time, and then he continued, "something bad will happen."

"I didn't know you believed in stuff like that, imagine that!" McCree rowdily exclaimed.

"I don't," Hanzo replied coldly as he dropped down from his perch to collect his arrow.

"What do you believe in, if ya don't mind me asking?" McCree held out the arrow to Hanzo- an olive branch- and Hanzo took it.

"Long or short version?" Hanzo kept himself from crossing his arms.

"I wouldn't mind hearing the long version," McCree smiled lazily around his cigar, "I'm a fan of hearing other people's beliefs."

"Have you not heard mine already? You are friends with Genji after all." Hanzo accused.

"Nope," McCree popped the P, "I've heard bits and pieces of Genji's old and new beliefs, but none of yours." The cheshire grin spread across McCree's face.

"You would think I am crazy." McCree probably already thought he was crazy.

"Aren't we all?" McCree asked, tilting his head slightly, and tapping out the ashes of his cigarillo. Brown eyes met brown eyes.

"I believe in a certain sense of honor," Hanzo started, "That means loyalty... at first, that loyalty was to my clan."

McCree took a drag of his cigarillo and leaned further back into the wall.

"I will never be able to pay for the destruction that I caused. Now my loyalty lies to myself, and to my brother, were it not for him, I would not be here." Hanzo said, allowing himself to lean against the block that McCree was leaning against.

"I hear ya, I- I used to be loyal to this gang, called Deadlock. I've did some nasty shit under the pretenses of following orders..." McCree shook his head.

Hanzo hummed in acknowledgment, urging McCree to continue.

"Even in Blackwatch- I, well, I left before the bombs went off, so I wasn't loyal until the end- but I did some good and some bad in Blackwatch. Now, I'm just loyal to me, and I'm hoping to be mostly good, dispense some justice, ya know?" McCree admitted, before taking another long drag of his cigarillo.

"What else do you believe in?" Hanzo found himself asking.

"Believe in heaven. Don't rightly know if I'm getting in- but I believe in it," McCree almost sounded guilty.

"I do not believe in heaven," Hanzo said and he watched McCree's face fall slightly as if he was ready to be made fun of.

McCree looked at him then. Hanzo wanted to turn around and walk away from the situation, to refuse the peace offering that McCree made.

"I believe in spirits," Hanzo stated, rubbing his tattooed arm, "I must."

"Ya know, I didn't believe in spirits until Genji showed me his spirit dragon for the first time."

"I have always believed as long as I can remember," Hanzo admitted. He remembered chasing after a scarf floating on the wind and calling out his mothers name to the gale.

"Huh, what'd ya' know," McCree nodded. "I guess, that's about it for me, 'cept I believe in justice even though I need some dispensed myself." McCree flexed his metal hand.

"I believe in courage, even though I am a coward at times," Hanzo listed.

"Damn, ain't you a walking contradiction." McCree smiled quickly. "But I am too."

McCree stuck out his flesh hand for Hanzo to shake. "Let's start over?" offered the gunslinger, and Hanzo shook his hand.

Athena scored them a B-, the highest that they had gotten while doing simulations.

 

Hanzo got dressed and spent some time exploring the dilapidated base over the next few hours. He found a what he thought was a rec room- it was very sparsely furnished, several couches were facing a holo-screen. Hanzo sat himself down on the couch quietly. Eventually, he lifted his feet onto the couch and laid his arm over his eyes, content to just rest for the moment. Music played somewhere far off. A low bass set the pace for Hanzo's breathing.

Hanzo would suppose that he was having a decent time adjusting to life at the Watchpoint, though it was too early to tell. McCree did not bother him after Genji's "talk". Hanzo assumed that the discussion they had this afternoon was part of the olive branch that McCree gave him.

When Genji was near Hanzo, the other agents would give faint smiles and talk about neutral subjects, things such as food, training schedules, and the weather forecast. Hanzo did not care for small talk. He had not expected a deep conversation about beliefs from the cowboy, but it was oddly pleasant. Able to talk their way around sensitive subjects, but not avoid them completely.

Hanzo could perhaps find himself being at ease with these strangers, should they look past his gravest sin that he had committed in his life. _Genji's screams- the blood- the pain burning him alive._ Hanzo undid his ponytail, letting his hair down.

Quiet footsteps came down the hall, but Hanzo did not open his eyes yet, he was content to let the owner pass him by.

" _Yo, Aniki_ ," Genji called out and Hanzo sat up.

" _Hai_?" Hanzo barked out his response.

Genji was standing in the doorway, dressed in a green sweater and a pair of black dress pants. The scars still bothered Hanzo, but he swallowed down his feelings. Obviously, his brother was more comfortable this way- with his mask off- who was Hanzo to deny his brother a basic comfort? Genji consistently refused to wear his faceplate around Hanzo.

For on the first day, Hanzo thought it was a reminder of Genji's hatred for him, but then Genji looked to Hanzo. _The heavy, cement filled gaze_ \- Hanzo shook his head. There was no such fear in Genji's eyes. There was still a sadness twinging his brothers gaze but it was nowhere near as oppressive as the look of absolute betrayal.

" _May I sit with you_?" as Genji said this, Hanzo sat up to make room.

" _If you wish to_."

The word " _please_ " nearly wormed its way out of Hanzo's mouth. It was a sickly little thing, Hanzo decided, as he made sure he was breathing in time to the music. However, as twisted as that "please" may be, Hanzo knew that he craved the potential contact with his brother, the very same brother that he maimed.

As soon as Genji sat down, he leaned down to grab at Hanzo's feet.

" _What are you doing, Genji_?" Hanzo asked softly in Japanese.

" _I want you to put your legs on mine, Like how you were sitting before_ ," Genji explained, smiling sheepishly.

Hanzo lifted his legs up and onto his brother's gently. Few sounds permeated the air: the sound of Genji tapping away at a communication device and the hum of vents being the two most distinct. The brothers sat on the couch speaking but they only talked with their body language. Ten long years of nearly complete silence had caused Hanzo to have a strange relationship with silence. At times, he both cherished and hated it.

Hanzo's dragons purred- no, rumbled, in the pit of his stomach. It was a low and excited noise rendered by the contact. They were excited to be by their kin again. Thrumming and shifting low underneath his skin. The air shifted from heavy to thin and light, the smell of ozone filled Hanzo's nostrils, and he knew that his eyes were glowing slightly. All because his dragons wanted.

The green-haired cyborg reached out and placed a hand on Hanzo's calf reassuringly. Hanzo tried to keep his mind off of the contact of metal to metal. The howl in his ears was a painful loop of " _Please_ " and " _I'm sorry_ " making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands.

"Brother, I can hear you thinking from here," Genji chastized and Hanzo nodded in response, not trusting his voice to be steady.

"I have forgiven you, Hanzo, and I will remind you of it any time you need me to," Genji continued, attempting to catch Hanzo's gaze.

"Thank you so much," Hanzo forced out while trying to hold back tears.

"Hanzo," Genji crooned- concerned. Hanzo let out a small gasp as he felt red hot tears trickle down his cheeks. His brother shouldn't care for him, shouldn't sound so concerned for the man that tried to murder him.

Athena chimed in from the wall, "I am measuring increased heart rate from Agent Hanzo. Do you require assistance?"

"No." Hanzo gruffed out, wiping his face with his hand.

"Are you certain?" Athena asked from Hanzo's comm.

After a moment, Hanzo said "Yes". Genji nodded, patting Hanzo's leg again.

Hanzo wiped his eyes roughly and sniffed. He felt his lips twist into a sour expression as he tried to compose himself. He breathed in and out deeply. Genji did not say anything as Hanzo rubbed at his face periodically; Hanzo regained his composure.

" _Nii-san_ ," Genji said once Hanzo had calmed himself down.

Hanzo pulled his feet off of his younger brother, and Genji opened his arms for a hug. Hanzo scooted closer so he could allow Genji the hug. He wrapped his arms around his brother, then Genji leaned back against the arm of the couch and forced his and Hanzo's feet up onto the couch. They were cuddling now, Hanzo realized and he shifted to be closer to the backrest of the couch.

Genji was warm, his body did not have the hard casing that it occasionally sported. Genji's sweater was soft against Hanzo's cheek. Genji smelt of a cologne, with an undercurrent of something familiar and sweet, but distinctly different at the surface- Lemongrass and something slightly warm and woody. Genji had always hated the heavy musky scents of most colognes and chose instead to make his own unique scents.

Hanzo closed his eyes with a sigh.

Genji moved so that their bodies were more comfortably resting together. Genji began to quietly speak softly. First in Spanish, then in another language. Both were languages that Hanzo did not understand, but the soothing sentiment was carried across the language gap.

The clink of spurs alerted Hanzo that McCree was entering the hallway. It was only a moment before he turned into the room and walked around the couch with his hands laying lazily on his hips. Genji waved a greeting as the gunslinger looked over at the two brothers.

"Howdy, I see y'all are getting along just fine. Didn't know you were a cuddler, Hanzo-san," McCree joked as he tipped his hat. A lopsided grin marred his face.

"I'm not," the terse reply formed on Hanzo's lips but then died as Genji waved his arm excitedly.

"Jesse McCree! Guess what time it is?" Genji exclaimed.

"Twelve hundred hours?" the gunslinger questioned, shifting his weight to his right side.

"You're no fun anymore," Genji said, faking a pout.

"Awh hell, alright, Genji." McCree said apologetically, and then asked, "Is it still exactly twelve?" Genji struggled to open his comm again because one arm was trapped under Hanzo.

"For another twenty-five seconds," Hanzo said as he looked at his watch.

There was not a proper response, instead, McCree squared his stance, drew his gun with a spin, and shouted- "It's Hiiiiigh Noon!"

Genji whistled and hollered. Hanzo winced slightly at the noise.

"Thank ya' kindly." McCree made a mock bow. The gunslinger smiled as if he had just delivered a joke.

"I do not understand," Hanzo admitted after a moment.

Genji snickered, and Hanzo looked to him for an explanation.

"He calls it out when he uses Deadeye," Genji said helpfully.

"Ah," Hanzo said, he had heard the cowboy shout the phrase once before, during the simulation, when ten targets went down with six bullets.

"Yeah, it's somethin' special alright," the gunslinger slurred his words amicably as he put his gun away.

McCree sat down on the couch and put a pair of headphones in. He tilted his chair back and placed his hat over his face. Genji pushed Hanzo's head back down to rest against his chest. Something slightly hard met Hanzo's head, but he turned his cheek and was surprised to hear a soft thumping.

"Genji," Hanzo said, sitting up slightly.

" _Yes_?"

" _I can hear your heartbeat_ ," Hanzo said, taken aback.

" _The heart of a man still beats inside me_." Genji smiled softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McCree used Military Time here. "Twelve hundred hours" is 1200 and is read as he said it. It is noon, precisely noon. High noon.
> 
> More Military Time is used in this fanfiction in later chapters.


	5. Drinking Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Jesse thinks about death, dead people, and injuries a lot in this one.

_The first sounds Jesse remembers hearing from Genji was broken, angry sobs._

_Jesse said nothing as the man cried in front of him. His eyes were screwed shut and his tight grip on the bedsheets with his one remaining arm was enough to tell Jesse that he would take the deal._

_Jesse took off, having been in the middle of talking with Angela. "I'll be back later," he tossed over his shoulder._

_That night he returned, marched past the cubicle where he knew the Asian man was still. Jesse knocked on Angie's office door. Angela opened the door and let him in, they exchanged a few words and Angela opened the door that hid a broken man called "Genji"_

  
_"Sorry about running off earlier," Jesse whispered to the man stuck in that bed. The patient looked at him confused and raised an eyebrow at Jesse._

_"Yeah, I don't usually make sense. Was here earlier. Do you wanna play cards?"_

_Genji shook his head no slowly. It was clearly painful as he winced._

_"I don't have no bedside manner, so welcome to the shitshow hun, my name is Jesse McCree and if you don't play cards with me I will sit here and talk your ear off as I play solitaire."_

_The man nodded, his face contorting something fierce at the movement._

_"Yes to me playing solitaire and talking?"_

_Genji nodded again. Jesse beamed in the low light._

_"Is everything alright, McCree?" Angela asked from beyond the door._

_"Just peachy, thank you kindly. Angie, you go on to bed."_

Jesse had been privy to a lot more information than most, including Angela herself. No, Jesse wasn't the only one to visit the ninja as he was recovering but he was, in fact, the most frequent visitor. They played cards and video games but never in silence. Jesse told Genji wild outlandish stories until Genji could tell his own.

  
Their comradery was such a tentative thing. Easy to break at any sudden moment. When Genji was too tired after surgeries, Jesse backed off, gave him space. Made sure to only come around when he was wanted.

Their friendship, later on, was something Jesse only secretly cherished until Genji spoke about how much it actually meant to him.

"To have someone sit by me when I had no voice, and treat me like a human, it was something pretty fucking amazing. Thank you, McCree."

Now Jesse was left wondering what more he could have done.

"Was I enough during that time of Genji's life?" he questioned wordlessly. Jesse leaned back into his swig of whiskey that bit just as much as he did.

_He remembered the smell of burning flesh. The burn scars on Gérard. The burn scars on Genji. The time spent in hospitals waiting, talking, playing cards. Smoothing over injuries with his southern drawl, minimizing their importance._

  
He was enough, he convinced himself. Genji had told him he was enough. Somehow, he didn't believe it.

"Never be enough, cariño. Be more. Do more _._ " The harsh voice of Jesse's dead mentor floated through the fog that the whiskey had created. Jesse scowled at the bottle, put it on his desk and then pushed it away from himself.

Too many demons tonight. Jesse needed to get some fresh air or some company. Jesse got up, slightly unsteady on his feet, and changed his clothes into his pajamas.

He scooped up the bottle of whiskey and took a mindless pull from it. Exiting his room, he started to walk aimlessly, looking for something that he knew he wouldn't find easily.

He found himself later, deep in thought, staring at a nameplate that said Genji Shimada in neat, looping lettering. Genji wasn't here, but Jesse had a sneaking suspicion that he still knew the code.

He tried it and the keypad lit up and angry orange-ish red.

Then he tried his comm, taking a swig from the bottle with his metal hand. He sent a cowboy emoji.

[From Gunslinger to Cyborg Ninja]: Genj, y ain't u in your room?

[From Cyborg Ninja to Gunslinger]: I'm on a mission right now. Your messages will be delivered once it is over.

It was a pre-programmed message, Jesse had one similar. He sighed and took off walking again.

_The fire, lapping at his skin like it hungered to take a bite out of his flesh. The heat, making him sweat and his eyes water. The smoke, choking him and blurring his vision._

He took another long pull from his drink and continued to walk.

_The bomb was set off by an undercover talon agent. He should have seen it coming- should have prevented it somehow._

_The black figures in the smoke- all those poor souls he should have saved from the fire. He hauled a limp body over his shoulder, dumping it on the ground outside and then going in to retrieve another and another and another. Pulled six out of the building before the firemen pulled him back from going in again._

_Three lived beyond a week. They all sustained severe burns. He only saved three lives. In the face of the eighteen that died in the building in Oslo. The math of good versus bad didn't add up._

He found himself at a door again and knocked this time.

Fareeha answered the door, which confused Jesse. She was dressed in gray sweatpants and a black Guns n' Roses tee shirt. Her hair was tousled and loose, coming down to her jaw in waves. Her face was slightly flushed. She looked a lot more of an adult than Jess was used to.

Jesse looked over at the nameplate and, yep, he was at the wrong room. Entirely the wrong wing, even.

"Yes?" Fareeha said impatiently.

"Was wondering if ya want to drink with me?" Jesse eased, drawling smoothly and attempting to keep his voice low.

"Sure," came her reply.

Fareeha walked back into her room but kept the door open. A bottle of something was on her desk.

"To the Mess," Fareeha said in mock triumph, brandishing a nearly empty bottle of wine.

"Have you already been drinking?" Jesse asked, carefully choosing his tone and his words.

"Have you?" Fareeha accused, pointing at his bottle and Jesse nodded, tipping an invisible hat.

Fareeha chuckled, and Jesse felt home creep up from the shadows of his mind and brighten his thoughts a little.

"Never enough," echoed the voices of the burned, crawling their way out of the hellscape of Jesse's mind. It all reminded him to take a drink- his throat itched something fierce.

Jesse just laughed. He was certain that his laugh didn't reach all the way to his eyes. Then again, neither did Fareeha's. They both had a lot to drink about- speaking of-

"What's got you drinkin'?" Jesse asked.

"Bad memories," Fareeha answered, allowing her posture to slump a small degree as they walked to the mess hall.

"You wanna talk about it?" Jesse offered before taking a small burning swig of whiskey. It was a good burn, distracted him from the bad burns.

"Not really. What about you?" Fareeha crossed her muscular arms over her chest.

"I don't wanna talk neither. Have you 'sidered talking to Zenyatta?" He asked, knowing that she probably hadn't.

"He freaks me out a little, to be entirely honest," Fareeha admitted with a shameful smile.

"Freaks me out too," Jesse said, only a little astonished that someone else felt the same.

After a long lull in the conversation and another sip of wine from Fareeha, the feeling of home crept up on him a little more, promising to chase the bad away.

They found themselves at the mess hall. Fareeha stopped him with a gesture.

Mei was there sitting and staring at the wall near the door. Poor thing looked startled when she came back down to earth. She was wearing a pair of blue pajamas with a snowflake pattern. She had a mug clenched tightly in her hands, a clear sign of distress.

"Howdy there, Miss Zhou." Jesse waved his prosthetic, talking at an even, unconcerned pace.

"Ah, um, sorry," Mei moved to stand up from the chair.

"No, don't leave on our account. The more the merrier, as they say." Fareeha said stiffly, squaring her shoulders ever so slightly. She looked like even more like a soldier now, Jesse thought absentmindedly. He was reminded of the look of determination on her face when she was younger, in a way.

"Thank you," Mei mumbled as she sat back down. Jesse and Fareeha sat down at the same table as Mei.

"So," Fareeha started.

"So." Mei sipped her tea. The fragrance of pine smoke wafted over from her mug.

"La," Jesse joked.

"Me," Mei replied hesitantly, a smile curling across her round face.

"So," Jesse started, and then he directed his attention to Mei, "What's keeping you up, doc?"

"Nightmares," she replied flatly, an empty look filling her eyes.

"I'm sorry," He said gently.

"Do you wish to talk about it, Doctor Zhou?" Fareeha asked politely as she placed her bottle of wine on the table.

"I just-" Mei started with a sigh, "I worry that I will wake up and everyone around me will be dead," Mei explained, rubbing her tired eyes.

It's been years since he'd seen Mei. He'd brushed by her before she was assigned to EcoPoint, but he'd hadn't known her all that well, so he didn't say anything much more than a "good luck".

Jesse had read her file: he knew that everyone at EcoPoint had died beside her. Also knew that she was talking to Zenyatta about her issues about her guilt having survived. He had seen her coming out of Zenyatta's office once or twice and politely said nothing about it.

"Damn," Jesse mumbled.

"Yeah, 'damn'," Mei replied, wiping weakly at her puffy eyes for one final time.

Jesse offered her his bottle and was surprised when she poured a considerable amount of whiskey into her tea. They drank in near silence. Mei drank her probably-horrible-tasting spiked tea, Fareeha drank her wine, and Jesse drank his whiskey.

"Why are you two drinking?" Mei asked, no contempt in her accented voice.

"I'm drinking because of the Anubis program," Fareeha admitted after the moment of not-quite-tense silence.

Fareeha's smile didn't quite look right. Too sorrowful and full of something guilty. Yeah, Jesse had read her file too. Facing off against a god program would leave some mental scars on even the toughest of soldiers.

"Jesse?" Fareeha stared at him expectantly.

"Alright, alright," Jesse said, swallowing the last sip with a hiss.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"I can't stop thinking about the explosion at Oslo," Jesse admitted and every word felt like it stuck in his throat before he painfully ripped it out like ripping off a bandage.  A now exposed bleeding wound sat in his words and in the silence that followed them. Laying his heart bare felt all kinds of raw, fresh, and clean.

"Damn," both Fareeha and Mei muttered, although they were a bit off from being in sync.

"Yeah, 'damn'," he growled, and stood up. He picked up his bottle as an afterthought. He didn't need any company to see him being so weak. He needed a cigarillo.

"This is enough," he told himself as he walked down the hall back to his room.

Jesse knew that his drinking habits would kill him sooner or later unless he went to someone to get help. Getting help was the tough part of it though. He should be enough to deal with it on his own. He breathed out a hiccough, knowing that the red hot feeling of guilt would be coming soon.

 _"_ Snivelin' brat," came the far-off voice of Jesse's dad.

"Fuck 'im," slurred Jesse as he tapped at his pockets looking for a cigarillo.

 

The next thing Jesse knew, he was being attacked. He sat up, grabbed the offending foot that was touching him and pulled it towards him. At the same time, he swung his own foot out to knock the person kicking him off balance.

His head was pounding and his eyes were screwed tightly shut against the bright light.

He heard a small "oof" as whoever it was hit the ground in front of him. He cracked an eye open to see Hanzo Shimada staring at him in disbelief.

"Well howdy pardner," Jesse drawled smoothly, noticing a water bottle rolling off into the middle of the hallway.

"Hello. My apologies, I did not mean to startle you," Hanzo said, straightening up. Jesse let go of Hanzo's foot, realizing his mistake.

"Nah, it's no biggie, sorry for knocking you down," Jesse said as Hanzo jumped up from his sitting position.

Hanzo offered a hand down to Jesse to help him up. Jesse took the offered hand and Hanzo took a step back and tugged gently. Jesse used that, plus his own strength, to pull himself up from his seated position.

He must have fallen asleep after his drunken panic session in the hallway. Hopefully, no one had seen that. They certainly would push therapy on Jesse faster than he could say "Locomotive Malfunction". Jesse briefly remembered Athena and her cameras, but then again, maybe she wouldn't say anything.

"Why'd you wake me by kicking me?" Jesse found himself asking with a tired yawn. There was a cottony taste in his mouth from sleep.

"I figured it would be better than shouting at you. Others might be trying to sleep," Hanzo answered stiffly.

"Why?" Jesse muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"It is past seven- the time we agreed upon for training," Shimada said with an air of regalness.

"Awh shit." Jesse scrambled to pull out his comm. Confirming that it was 8:15, he then grumbled, "lemme just get my stuff from my room real quick and I'll meet ya down there."

Hanzo walked off in one direction, and Jesse walked the remaining length of the hall to his room.

 

Jesse changed quickly into his normal gear, and considered leaving his mother's gun in his room. Too many memories to be toting that around today.

_The sight of his father with a hole above his right eyebrow. Jesse's relief at the sight and the sudden realization that he'd done it- and what he'd done. His hands trembled, his body felt cold, even though it was the middle of a sweltering summer._

_He'd finally done it. Fuck._

_His mama's voice cut through, clear and saccharine, unpanicked. A figment of a young teen's overactive imagination._

_"You've done good, Jessito," the motherly spirit praised as she stood looking down at Jesse's father._

_"He needed to_ _git dead," Jesse defended his actions, one more time, to no one at all._

_The day passed by in an unreal haze._

_The neighbors arrived later, having heard the gunshot._

_Mrs. Jackwell helped him hide both his father's and his mama's illegal guns. Mr. Jackwell helped make it look like a robbery gone wrong. Put all the "stolen" stuff in an old abandoned building._

_The Jackwells both knew what a bad man Jesse's father was. Mrs. Jackwell hugged him and told him it'd be alright, that the trouble was over, and that Jesse'd be okay soon._

_They called the police later after Jesse had the blood all gone from him._

_He'd cried his eyes out until Mr. Jackwell gave him some water and something to help him sleep_

_"It was self-defense and they won't charge you nothin' since you're closer to a kid than an adult," Mrs. Jackwell assured him quietly the next day, while they were walking through a deserted park._

_The police took him in for questioning, and he cried, but not for the reason they expected. Jesse wasn't crying for the loss of his father. He was a kid crying because he killed the demon haunting him. Killed all the bad that happened after his mama's overdose._

Jesse blinked the memory away. He'd been staring at his mama's gun. He shoulda left it where they'd hidden it all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Mei is drinking a tea called "Lapsang Souchong" which is also called smoked tea. When she puts whiskey in, it is called a "Hot Toddy" (I think, correct me if I am wrong). Lapsang Souchong is a black tea native to China. It is smoked over pinewood fires, imparting a smokey taste. I personally headcanon that it is Mei's favorite type of tea (for various reasons). Lapsang Souchong is perhaps one of the best teas for a Hot Toddy (Or so I've been told, I've never tried it).


	6. Reach For The Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo has a theory that he wants to test out.

Hanzo Shimada had a theory. As he neared training room, he saw no one besides himself walking the halls of the rundown aerospace base that was Watchpoint:Gibraltar. He began to do what he did best, planning out his moves and interactions, approximating, plotting and calculating reactions. Since the training program was randomized by Athena, he didn’t know what to expect in terms of combatting it, but that wasn’t what he planned to do.

No, he was going to make the cowboy incredibly angry. He was going to anger McCree into becoming physically violent with him.

That was because he had a theory. Only partially, yet also partially because he wanted to. It would be cathartic to fight the gunslinger.

The rounds of Peacekeeper’s bullets were replaced with specialized rubber ammunition, and there was a medic on base in case McCree was seriously injured by Hanzo. Assuming that the good doctor would be indignant about Hanzo’s actions, as she had every right to be, Hanzo would then flee and tend to any wounds himself.

Hanzo walked into the simulation room and placed his bow and quiver on the ground. He remembered the cowboy’s wordless offer of peace, but that wouldn’t stop him from testing his theory.

He stretched, reaching his hands down to the floor. Doubled over himself, with his face scant millimeters away from his knees, he heard someone enter the room and clear their throat behind him.

McCree was there, starting his own set of stretches. Hanzo ignored him after the initial glance to confirm it was McCree.

He knew that Genji would not be happy with him antagonizing McCree. However, he did not care, as his brother was dead. That cyborg couldn’t possibly be Genji. He had told Hanzo last night after he returned from his scouting mission that Hanzo should join both Zenyatta and himself for meditation. The Genji that Hanzo knew never enjoyed meditation, claiming that the world went too fast for him to enjoy sitting for hours at a time. Patience was never Genji’s strong suit, Hanzo thought as he continued doing his stretches.

Hanzo knew, some part of him recognized, that he was two steps back from where he had been the previous days he had been at the watchpoint. He had been willing to accept redemption (or death) from the cyborg claiming to be Genji Shimada.

Ultimately, Hanzo was happy that this had allowed him to realize that the cyborg was no more than a carefully created copy. Perhaps he was actually Hanzo’s brother, but so changed that he was unrecognizable. Hanzo didn’t deserve redemption anyways, and any honor he found in death would be misplaced.

Hanzo would leave once dark fell over the compound, and resume his voluntary exile. He would go to the United States, snaking his way around the large, diverse landscape.

First, however, he wanted to test his theory.

“G’morning there, Hanzo-san,” McCree drawled, his voice a made a sharp contrast to how neatly he said “Hanzo-san”.

Hanzo grumbled a few scathing words in Japanese to the gunslinger. Using the impolite form of “you” felt wrong but oddly good at the same time. He had insulted McCree’s family and felt hypocritical in his insult, knowing that his own was most likely more unsavory. Fixing McCree with a face that was mostly disgust and part fury, now that made him feel better. It felt good to be so callous.

“Well howdy-do to you too, ya mean ole son of a bitch,” McCree said in sarcastic English.

McCree then looked at Athena’s camera as if he was considering something. He then responded to Hanzo’s insult in Japanese with his own. Hanzo was not surprised, nor was he really offended by what was intended to be an insult. It was true. Hanzo was, in fact, both overserious and a kinslayer.

Hanzo felt his lip twitch as he picked up his bow and quiver. “If I had known that you speak Japanese I would have insulted you louder.”

“Bless your heart,” McCree scowled around the words and an unlit cigarillo. He obviously didn’t mean the words literally.

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can focus my time on something more worthwhile with better company,” Hanzo gruffed as he started up the sim, his bow in his hand.

McCree chuckled shortly at that. “Good luck with that.” His voice was full of anger tinted mirth.

The rising blocks of the simulator shifted into place and Hanzo rose with them. McCree stepped down off of a slowly rising block, determined to keep to close to ground level. The simulator constructed itself around them. Hanzo thought of it as a wide alleyway or a similar formation.

McCree lit up a cigar, now a dozen feet below Hanzo. His metal hand cupped around the flame, as if there would be a wind to blow it out.

Once the immediate area around Hanzo had stopped rising, the facade of the blocks shifted and morphed into place. All of the blocks took on a similar height. A white canyon spread out around Hanzo’s feet, with McCree down at the bottom of it almost 3 stories below. More of the canyon was forming, further off. Handholds and footholds morphed from the material of the blocks. Ledges that hanzo had thought were narrow balconies folded in on themselves to become rocky and natural looking. Then all at once color came to the surface of the material, blushing up like pigment to a face. Hanzo was surrounded by red earth. The ceiling and the walls had yet to change from their alabaster hue. Hologram vegetation bloomed from the fake rock with a static that then stabilized.

Six camera drones popped out of the white ceiling and flitted about. Hanzo watched as they descended, floating around him like butterflies or birds on the breeze.

Soon enough the room’s walls and ceiling were sliding their hue into a sky, complete with a blinding, hyper-realistic sun in the center of it all.

“Thank you kindly, Athena, this is just what the doctor ordered,” McCree bellowed from below Hanzo.

Athena said nothing as bots began to appear from the sides of the canyon, thick, unnatural lines opened mechanically from the face of the stone.

Bots just kept coming out, their blue displays muted by the sun. A hologram clipped through Hanzo’s legs and Hanzo stepped out of its way.

At first it was 20 bots. It slowly became 40, then it grew to 50 bots crowding the relatively wide canyon. McCree looked surprised and… happy? It was more than two people could reasonably take on by themselves. They were not average people, but he knew that McCree didn’t have enough ammo. Hanzo didn’t want to risk unleashing the dragons to deal with the bots because he didn’t truly know if his opinion of McCree was kind enough to spare him from the wrath of them.

Had Athena gone rogue? Was the cowboy going to die a slow and painful death once the blue displays lit up red? Hanzo felt his breath hitch ever so slightly as he waited for the pulsefire to commence without command.

“Well shit, ‘thena,” McCree whistled once the flow of the bots had been stanched completely, “I take it you don’t like us very much.”

“Quite the opposite, Agent McCree,” The AI smoothed from overhead as the bots shifted and danced erratically around each other in the 10 foot wide canyon. Her voice sounded like how Hanzo thought a scorned goddess’ might.

“Hey, Ms. Everdeen,” McCree called up with annoyance.

Hanzo didn’t know who he was trying to call, he looked up, and then around. He even took a few steps away from the edge of the canyon.

“Archer, you still with me?” McCree said into the comm and Hanzo realized that McCree had been calling him.

The nicknames were confusing, Hanzo would say that much. If he wanted to keep insulting Hanzo why didn’t he just stick with reminding him that he was a failure of a Shimada by using his clan name?

“Hanzo,” McCree singsonged.

Hanzo felt his face pulled into a scowl at the over-familiarity. He barked more than asked, “What.”

“We’re fucked,” McCree said, cheer evident in his tone.

Hanzo bit out a laugh at that, “Just you.”

McCree made a faux wounded noise. “Meaner than a rattlesnake.”

Soon McCree called out again. “Athena, you wanna tell me why we’re facing a platoon of bots?”

“You know why,” Athena responded cryptically.

Hanzo supposed that it would be a roundabout way to confirm his suspicions, but he knocked an arrow anyways. Hitting McCree’s hat off his head had been delightful thing- Hanzo had enjoyed it immensely last time.

McCree looked at him with slight confusion once he felt eyes on him. Hanzo could see it clearly with his enhanced vision.

“Don’t,” said the gunslinger, halfway between a tired plea and a command.

Hanzo let loose the arrow.

McCree, just like last time, stayed perfectly still.

Five more bots came out of the wall on either side.

Hanzo was pleased that his theory had proven itself correct, albeit, in a unplanned way. He set his bow across his shoulders.

“Just what is it ya have against my hat? It's a perfectly nice hat.” McCree was exasperatedly shouting into the comm. Hanzo watched as McCree looked at the recent additions to the number of bots and quieted.

“I truly have nothing against your hat.” Hanzo delivered into the comm and heard a muted snort in response.

“Ok, Shimada-san, I'll buy that.” McCree leaned against the wall, unworried by the 60 bots near him. His voice was flat, stoic.

“Please consider my insults to you from earlier to be false. The insults and me shooting your questionable headwear off this time was because I was testing a theory,” Hanzo explained.

McCree hummed thoughtfully, the low noise would have been drowned out by the bots' fans whirring if it wasn’t for the fact that he was still pressing on his comm.

“Yeah, I'm calling bullshit. I think you just don’t think of me all that fondly,” McCree said gruffly.

Hanzo looked at the swarm of bots around the gunslinger and then pressed his comm lightly. “I do not think about you at all, Mr. McCree.”

A tingle of electricity ran up Hanzo's left arm. The dragons bristled at the fact that he was lying; normally they did not care if he lied to strangers. It was only when he had lied to Genji in the past that they bristled like this. This was all so strange and new he couldn’t tell what it was that his dragons were thinking. He received a harsh static in response to his question about why they cared.

McCree was laughing.

“What are you doing, Mr. McCree?” Hanzo questioned, tilting his gaze downwards once more to see McCree put his hat on one of the bots.

“Relax, Hanzo-san, I'm jest having a bit of fun before I end up pretending to be dead.”

“Athena, do you know the success rate of this simulation?” Hanzo asked. The simulations are not actually planned to be impossible, despite this one seeming to be. Athena calculated percentages and told the the likelihood of failure only once per simulation.

“For Hanzo, it is .003 percent,” Athena said cooly, her voice almost sounded like it was coming from the sun.

Confused as to why his own projected success rate was so low, he asked “And for McCree?”

“Agent McCree’s projected success rate in his current position is also .003 percent. If one of you fails, both do.”

“Does he have to be in the canyon?” Hanzo asked as McCree took his hat back from the bot.

Athena, mysteriously, said nothing for a moment.

It was Winston’s voice that let out a nervous chuckle through the comms, “At least one of you has to.”

Hanzo made a calculation in his head, if McCree was watching from above would the chances be better? Hanzo would be able to use his dragons while McCree gave him cover fire. There were boulders at the bottom he could use for cover at least in one direction and there were places in which he could likely fit in the rock if he needed to have more sufficient cover on both sides.

Hanzo made the choice for them. He slung his bow over his shoulder and began to slide down the face of the canyon for a distance. His arm protested slightly and his armored archery glove was a godsend as he held his left arm to the canyon’s almost 90 degree wall. His feet caught on footholds occasionally. He got to a ledge only 10 feet down, and climbed down the rest of the way with no hurry.

Once he got to the bottom he saw the gunslinger looking at him, clearly amused.

“Switch places,” Hanzo gruffed out, pointing upwards.

McCree said nothing as he began to climb. He had given Hanzo a smirk as he passed. It took the gunslinger a shorter time to get up the wall than Hanzo had anticipated.

“Ready?”

Hanzo grunted an affirmative into the comm as he got his bow off his back.

“Alright, Athena, let’s start this bad boy up,” McCree said, determination evident in his tone.

The bots around Hanzo whirred to life and he wasted no time. He feinted left and then moved to the right, towards a small bit of cover. Around him the canyon was alit with pulsefire.

He summoned his spirit dragons and launched an arrow into the metal chest of one of the bots, pleased when it fell as he hit his mark.

The entire right side stopped shooting at him briefly. A resounding chorus of incredibly exaggerated, yet still human sounding, noises of pain rang out.

Some of the errant shots from once side had hit the other, and oppressive pulsefire surrounded Hanzo competely.

Hanzo quickly scrambled to get to better cover in one of the crevices on the other side. He acknowledged the sound of gunshots and pulse shots in rapid succession. McCree was doing his job.

“You took out about half of the ones to your right. Hang in there,” McCree said.

Hanzo cursed quietly as he leaned against the crevice wall; his side was in pain. He’d been grazed by a pulse that the bots fired. His dragons were not cooperating, most likely trying to make a point that he did not understand. They should have taken all the bots on one side out, yet they disobeyed him.

Hanzo felt the sticky tendrils of panic siege his chest, they wrapped around his lungs and squeezed slightly.

“I’ve been hit,” Hanzo reported as he nocked a scatter arrow in the small space. He supposed he deserved the dragons blatant disobedience, having foolishly pried into their emotions earlier.

“Athena, was it a fatal shot?” McCree asked into the comm as he continued downing bots.

Athena said nothing.

“Keep going, pardner,” McCree ordered and Hanzo delivered.

He peeked his head out and saw that the bots on one side were heaped on top of one another to the point where they couldn’t fire at him any more. On the other side there was a growing pile, but a stray pulseshot glanced by his head. He did the quick math as he fired a scatter arrow from his cover, lighting the space up a brilliant blue and then watched as another small chunk fell.

A pulseshot hit the canyon walls around him, close but they didn’t get him.

His breath was only slightly catching as he jumped against the canyon wall to a large. Hanzo moved fast and erratically, jumping from one wall to another until he reached a large ledge. McCree had provided enough coverfire to allow Hanzo to make it up to this point.

He kneeled low and fired a scatter arrow quickly in retaliation, not calculating the trajectory to his fullest before releasing it. He was plesantly surprised when it took out two more bots than he had expected. He drew another scatter arrow and winced as a pulse got too close.

His dragons roared angrily at his earlier injury, inspecting the flesh there and finding nothing wrong beyond a blooming soreness. They sneered in twin voices, “ _Pathetic_.”

Ever the spiritual diplomat, Hanzo grunted and simply nocked another scatter arrow. He concentrated on the side with the most amount of bots.

He looked and found an place where if he shot at a certain rock the scatter arrow would break, bouncing against the wall of the canyon and seperating to both of the sides at once. He let loose an arrow.

McCree had not ceased firing to the right, and soon the bots had all been downed on that side. Two more scatter arrows and a dozen of headshots from McCree and all of the bots were downed.

Hanzo pulled his bow over his shoulder and climbed the rest of the way up the canyon wall. Once he reached the top, he stood facing Mccree.

McCree looked proud and then concerned when Hanzo pulled his bow off of his chest.

“Let me see your injury, partner,” he said, polite worry showing in his voice. He had holstered his weapon. His foot was clipping through a hologram of dry grass.

“It is no concern of yours,” Hanzo grunted as he spared a look towards the bots who were now coming back together and exiting through the canyon walls.

The hologram foliage flickered out of existence. The sky went back to being white walls.

“Athena, can you put the sky and plants back? I liked them. I'm gonna be here for a bit longer with Hanzo-san.” McCree muttered into his comm. Hanzo’s anger rose, how dare McCree force him here with him for any longer. He clenched his jaw and pushed the anger down. 

"You better not cause any trouble, Agent McCree,” Athena said as she put all but one of the camera drones away.

McCree ignored the AI and looked Hanzo in the eyes. “I'm only gonna say it once-”

Hanzo turned away slightly. “I do not want to hear it.”

“Yer pretty handy with that bow,” McCree praised, surprising Hanzo.

Hanzo looked at him with a level expression. “Is that all?”

“We should have a drink together sometime.”

Hanzo’s rejection of that idea was swift but would even be considered polite if one only took his words at face value. He wasn’t going to imbibe again when there were so many capable people who held hostility for him around him- last time was a mistake.

McCree wordlessly let him leave after that, but Hanzo found himself lingering for a bit.

He thought for a moment on what to say. He settled on, “You have some skill.”

McCree smiled politely at him, obviously straining slightly from the simulation and from the tense conversation. He pulled his hat over his face, obscuring his eyes.

“I do not hate anyone here, including yourself,” Hanzo said as he walked to the edge of the simulation room. He did not turn back to see McCree’s reaction.

He placed his hand on the sky and began his descent downwards. The ground went down, down till the sun was a distant dream. Hanzo missed what Athena had scored them this time.


	7. Wet, Sweaty, Foul Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for:
> 
> suicidal ideation  
> descriptions of dissociation  
> emotional and physical child abuse  
> talking about self harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would suggest to NOT read this chapter if you are suffering through a rough time.
> 
> Don't worry about missing much- the after effects of this chapter will be displayed in the next chapter
> 
> Anyways, if you are having a rough time I advise you to reach out to someone

Jesse pulled the brim of his hat down slightly with his metal arm before removing the cigarillo from his mouth and pressing the remains of it into the simulator floor with his prosthetic. His legs dangled over the side of the canyon, and he smiled into his the mouth of his flask.

  
The whiskey was whiskey, nothing to write home about, but also not paint thinner. He was feeling slightly hung over still and was somewhat fatigued from the simulation, memories, and poor sleep. The liquid was appreciated greatly as it became a balm for his troubles.

  
He had removed his serape and his boots. His cactus socks were on display as Athena’s camera drone fluttered to and fro in the rock formation below, presumably looking for any flaws in the simulation room’s construction of it.

  
Despite the high noon sun beaming down on him the air was cool. That was the one thing that this simulation room failed at recreating. Being an older model, nearly ten years old, it did not have the ability to change temperatures and humidity.

  
Jesse had always considered himself to have a way with words, but he was no author. Being back in the geography of his youth made him feel both smaller and larger than himself, and it was easy to think of pretty words to describe this open landscape.

  
It was silent, save for the buzzing of Athena’s drone and his breathing. The sun had not moved, despite the fact that McCree had been in here for an hour. The hologram plants swayed in a dry, hot breeze that was not felt nor heard.

  
Jesse considered writing a book highlighting the differences and similarities between reality and simulators, focusing on a character in the “southwest”. It’d be a book less about the story and more about this funny feeling of not belonging, of not really being where you are. No one would actually know much about the main character beyond their name and pronouns and a few key things that they were running from.

  
To be entirely honest, he was stealing a few ideas from a old show he had watched once with Mr. Jackwell.

  
Neither the character nor the readers would know if it was set in a simulation or not. The readers would simply know that feeling of being out of place and the other feeling that’s been consuming Jesse since his early teen years.

  
The other feeling, the one that kept catching him unaware at the worst and best of times, breathing down his neck with her honeyed words, promising him redemption for all the bad he’s ever caused the world if he just pulls the trigger one final time.

  
The book would mention Blackwatch, but not by name, just the feeling of it, the snarling desperation of reformed criminals and other unsavory folk doing work for the “greater good”. Then the feeling of slowly getting further and further away from god and everything holy while the group began to fall apart.

There would be a full circle- Jesse decided. A phrase meaning one thing at the beginning, and then meaning something entirely different once at the end as the main character is dying from a very real wound in a very unreal world. In the end, the lonesome main character would feel entirely there as they bleed out red on the red ground. They would try to laugh with blood in their throat, as the hot, bitter sun beat down and the vultures circled.

Filled with prose and dissecting emotions, it would be a boring book, unread and collecting dust on someone’s bookshelf somewhere. The book wouldn’t be even remembered when that person, who never did read it beyond the first few chapters, eventually moved on. It wouldn’t be remembered as the first and only book that the infamous outlaw Jesse McCree ever wrote. Not at least until long after his death.

He thinks he’d like to put his real name on it, maybe, but at this point, he’d grown into the name Jesse Jackwell McCree. No one ever said he ever had to go back to being that scared tween that the Jackwells and Deadlock took in.

Before he can continue to brood, he is given some company.

A form tumbled down from a hole in the sky, they landed in a roll and stood up gracefully. The body’s sleek metal making a sharp contrast to the soft blue and the whispy clouds. The sky reformed quickly.

The cyborg chuckled, “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”

Jesse smiled at the turn of phrase. “Take a load off.”

Genji did just that. He sat next to the outlaw in seiza and removed his faceplate, setting it between them.

The ninja looked out over the peaceful southwestern scene before them. The quiet company was nice, very nearly similar to how it had occasionally been years ago, in the rare moments when Genji wasn’t overwhelmed with rage at his body and brother. Jesse noted that Genji had made it so far, coming to peace with not only his brother, but with himself.

Genji hummed, splaying one hand out across the red dirt. “I appreciate that you are making an effort towards welcoming my brother, despite any hostilities towards you.”

“It ain’t nothin’, Genji,” Jesse dismissed before he took another puff from his cigarillo.

Genji continued to look out wistfully at the generated horizon.

“He has been alone for so long, and he only learned of my survival recently. I am afraid he is in the stages of grief and will not make very good company for a while.”

“Ain’t he had his time to grieve?” Jesse questioned.

“Yes, that is part of my point, actually- he has mourned my death for years. He was most likely reliving that day frequently until recently, if our conversations and my observations are anything to go by,” Genji said, staring slightly up at a cloud.

Jesse grunted in response, his lips turned down slightly.

“Now, I would like to think he is now grieving the death of a belief- the belief that I was slain by his sword.”

McCree offered his flask to Genji and he took it. “Sounds a bit like wishful thinking to me, bud.”

“Ah, yes, I know,” Genji admitted quietly.

They sat there, wordlessly passing a flask between them. Genji looked like he wanted to say more but instead he just popped his shuriken in and out. He had told Jesse once, long ago, that it calmed his nerves. It made a mechanical sound in the empty world around them.

Jesse broke the near silence with a pointed look to his old friend. He purposefully circled back to what Genji had said earlier.

“To be fair, I’ve dealt with worse company than Hanzo.”

Genji shoved him playfully, understanding the intended meaning behind the words.

“I think he’s one mean ole son of a gun- but he’s trying to figure out some stuff. He’s touch and go with this whole redemption thing right now. God, there’s even this glint in his eye, like he’s assessin’ us, ‘enemy? or ally?’ he’s asking himself. That’s at least what it looks like to me.”

Genji sighed as he continued re-engaging and disengaging his shuriken. “Yes, I have seen it as well. I doubt he trusts that I am actually me.”

Jesse lit up another cigarillo and muttered around it, “I hope it all works out. I really do, honest.”

Genji nodded, looking like he was home here. He belonged here more than Jesse ever could, even in his full cowboy glory. Genji just looked so sure of himself, like this, sat in the middle of nowhere with his friend.

“How was training? Winston is upset that Hanzo left so early,” Genji said as he shifted out of seiza and into a cross legged position.

“It went better than I expected. Sure, Hanzo insulted me in Japanese, but I insulted him back. Sorry bout that. Anyways, I reckon he was just looking for a fight. He looked damn pleased once I insulted him back,” Jesse reported.

Genji looked upset for a moment, so Jesse was quick to add to the story.

“He said he was testing some theory- and then told me to ignore his insults- which is close enough to an apology for me.”

“Did he shoot your hat off again while he was testing this theory of his?” Genji asked, folding his hands together.

“That he did. I honestly think he was testing Athena, not me. Though he was very clearly tryin’ to get on my nerves to get me to fight him. Then he talked about how he had a theory... and that sounded genuine enough.”

“Despite what it seems, my brother has never liked senseless violence, no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise.”

Jesse chuckled, imaging the Yakuza heir hesitating to rip someone’s toenails out. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

“You should apologize to Hanzo, Athena told me what you said to him.”

“She’s a no good snitch.”

“That is true,” Athena said as she brought her drone closer to him.

It got close enough that Jesse could reach out and touch it, so he did. He felt the drone push against the palm of his prosthetic before it turned and flew into the ceiling.

“That was precious,” said Genji with not even a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Damn right,” McCree agreed.

 

 

Hanzo was exhausted emotionally. He had just been to a meeting with the entirety of the Overwatch group. The meeting was held allow him to announce the greatest mistake in his life to everyone there.

To make matters worse, he had talked to Genji before the meeting. Genji had told him a story that only the two of them knew about. It took place days before the final fight. It was the story of an angry prank gone wrong. Hanzo was certain that the cyborg was his brother, and a new wave of guilt had hit him just before the meeting had started.

There were people there he hadn’t even met before then. They were perfect strangers who were now judging him as harshly as he judged himself.

He had wanted to flee, he wanted to curl up in a corner and sleep until his chest stopped hurting and his dragons stopped roaring angrily at him and the situation.

He had nearly broke down into tears while he was explaining how he could never be forgiven for his crime- for following the Elder’s orders. He swallowed the rising taste of bile down fairly well, not allowing himself to break composure more than he already had.

Then Genji spoke up, explaining how he already had been forgiven. Hanzo had to take a very short break after that to collect himself and he exited the room. He came back to a room that was more tense than when he had left.

The look of utter disgust on climatologist’s face was surprisingly crushing. Her name was Doctor Mei-Ling Zhou and Hanzo had thought her a pleasantly cheery, yet dedicated individual. She looked like she wanted him to suffer, like she wanted to curse him. How dare he-

Then there was a crusader and their squire. Hanzo had wanted to introduce himself to them as well. The loud anger that had flashed in Reinhardt’s one eye had been enough to send a stake of panic through Hanzo’s chest. The crusader said nothing as Hanzo continued the story, finishing it with his arrival at the Watchpoint.

There was the offspring of Ana Amari who struck him as an imposing presence in the room. Who had initially looked at him kindly before he was introduced. When upon hearing his name, they then looked at him with cold, steely hatred.

The doctor was there as well, fixing him with a look that dissected him without a scalpel.

Tracer wore an angered face, but did not look surprised in the slightest. She was Winston’s right hand in a way, much like Athena, he had realized after one of his talks with Winston. Of course she was not surprised.

  
When so many good people thought you were bad, you must be a villain, right?

  
The group were then asked by Genji, McCree, Winston, and Zenyatta to be polite and courteous to Hanzo. Each of those four had vouched for him. Then the group was told again that he was forgiven by Genji. From the beginning of the meeting until the end of time they would most likely only look at him with thinly veiled rage.

Hanzo wanted to fire himself into space from Watchpoint: Gibraltar’s outdated launching facilities once the meeting was over. He was certain that it would make for an entertaining headline: “Stoic Shimada Experiences Crippling Emotions- Launches Himself Into Sun, More at 11.”

He looked at his tired, pink eyes in the large mirror in the bathroom. He was beyond redemption. He was the scum of the earth. His eyes were straining, tears threatening to spill at the slightest move. He took a stabilizing breath and pushed it down.

He was so weak. “ _Pathetic_ ,” reminded the dragons.

He walked back to his room and was surprised to find McCree near his door, holding a bottle.

Hanzo felt wet, sweaty, foul shame bear its head again, as if roused from a temporary slumber by the sight of the gunslinger.

“You alright, Hanzo-san?” McCree asked, worry evident in the knit of his brows.

Hanzo brushed passed him and into the room, after all, his door had no lock. Murderers could not be trusted. He could not be trusted. Hanzo still closed it behind him though.

McCree said something into his comm and then opened the door after a long moment.

“Do you want me to get someone?” McCree asked softly as Hanzo finished pulling his blanket and pillow off of his bunk.

Hanzo didn’t even so much as spare a look at the gunslinger as he moved the chair aside and pushed himself and his bedding into the space under the desk. It was a tight fit, something vulnerable and easy worked its way out as he crowded in. Hanzo closed his eyes against the tears still threatening to spill. 

He tucked his pillow behind his head. The gunslinger should have left, he shouldn’t have been allowed to see Hanzo be so vulnerable, so small and afraid of himself and his actions.

“Leave,” he commanded, gritting his teeth.

Hanzo was pathetic, a proud man, reduced to a curled up vessel of shame and regret. The regret was the worse part.

“ _Here you are, Master, a man nearing his forties, hiding under a desk from his emotions_.”

No one had ever told Hanzo how to deal properly with his own emotions. From a young age, probably around two, he was told that crying was unacceptable as the Shimada heir. He was punished severely by the servants, his mother and father would only see him when he was on his best behavior.

He remembers being ten, crying quietly in his room over the fact that he would never seen one of his friends again. He remembers two servants ripping him out of hiding and beating him with small, thin switches that left red lines on his skin for weeks. He remembers his father watching, uninterested, saying nothing as his heir disgraced him. Hanzo did not plead for it to stop, no, he did not say anything until it ways over. He apologized for crying, and thanked his father for correcting his mistake.

Hanzo remembers being twenty and being tipsy, looking at a ten year old that was crying and thinking, “that’s just a kid”. He remembers cursing and then he remembers buying the kid an ice cream cone to cheer him up. Hanzo was just a kid then, when the day came to an end. He had been a kid that was beaten into shape, forcefully molded into an ideal heir for a Yakuza clan, broken and reformed and _prideful_ for it.

He remembers being five and being confused as to why the two year old Genji was allowed to cry. Why did his father punish Genji in a different manner? Why was Genji so weak? Was he too fragile to handle his emotions properly? After all, Genji was a potential heir as well, why did their father not look at Genji crying as a disgrace to the Shimadas like he had done for Hanzo? Hanzo soon learned about favorite sons, honor, and duty.

During Hanzo’s travels he had found a book online about parenting, and read it on a whim to pass the time. One of the things that stuck with him was how it had effectively taken his life and explained it in neat little sentences. He was, of course, an example of what not to do to your children.

The book revealed to him how he was prone to bouts of anger because of his upbringing. It showed how he was “in control” of his emotions at most times but really was just suffering inside.

McCree was touching something on his desk without saying anything more for the moment. Hanzo realized that the gunslinger was picking up his quiver and bow case but he left the bow propped up against the side of the desk.

“Do ya have any weapons on ya or hidden in this room, Hanzo-san?” McCree asked, voice low.

Hanzo laughed, a broken sound that threatened tears and he swallowed it as soon as he heard it. The dragons balked and chuffed at the sound, choosing to be vocal to him about their displeasure upon viewing his weak display.

“Why? Are you suddenly worried I’m some feral beast that has been cornered?" His voice seemed loud in comparison to McCree's.

McCree sounded unsurprised but also apologetic as he softly responded, “No.”

Hanzo grunted, not believing the American for a moment.

“I have ten knives on my person, and that is all I have besides my bow and arrows. I reported all my weapons during the initial meeting before I came to the Watchpoint,” Hanzo said, with irritation present in his voice.

McCree would take all his weapons and kill him, surely. At least death was a favorable option to continuing to live such a dishonorable and shameful existence as a kinslayer.

“I trust ya. Please give me all ten of those knives.” The words were hilariously contradictory.

Hanzo wanted to snort at the contrast, but instead he removed two knives at a time from his waist, placing them onto the floor. A small collection of less than half of his knives became arranged neatly on the floor. Handles facing McCree. McCree scooped them up, depositing them into his poncho thing with Hanzo’s quiver and arrow parts.

Hanzo’s dragons briefly paused their exhausting tirade, settling in his bones, heavy and amused.

“ _You realize you are nesting under a desk, a weak creature taking refuge in the den of his enemies_.” They laughed. At one point, perhaps Hanzo would have considered these people his enemies, but they were allies of Genji’s and he owed a life debt.

Hanzo pressed his thumbs onto either side of his kneecap. He was then able to start disconnecting his left prosthetic. He hissed as the synthetic nerves were unhooked.

McCree squatted down next to him, his red poncho held loosely in one hand, his flesh hand was held up, like Hanzo was a startled animal he was trying to soothe. Hanzo’s quiver and his bow case were over his shoulder.

“Woah, hold up now- I jest asked for yer weapons, not yer body parts.”

Hanzo waited a moment after setting his left prosthetic down to the side before he even thought of starting to unhook the other.

“I needed to take them off soon anyways,” he said defeatedly, recognizing the fact that his voice was softer than it usually was.

Hanzo’s dragons began their chant. Continually reminding him of all the terrible, irredeemable things he had done in his life. They made the air smell of petrichor, damp and heavy with sorrow.

McCree looked at him with a truly unreadable expression. No human’s face should be able to display that many conflicting and nameless emotions at once. But it did, and Hanzo looked away from it, too tired to deal with it.

“The knives are in them if you need to count them, there are three in each,” Hanzo added as he pressed his thumbs onto either side of his right kneecap.

“Okay,” McCree said as he delicately handled Hanzo’s left leg as if it was still sending tactile information to Hanzo.

Normally, Hanzo and his dragons would bristle at the fact that someone besides himself was touching his prosthetic, capable of stealing them. McCree was now capable of rendering Hanzo with limited motion. Hanzo was too tired, and his dragons were entirely focused on his betrayal of Genji, hissing and cursing Hanzo’s very existence, consuming his thoughts with their endless chant.

Their roars almost muffled the feeling of unhooking his other leg. Almost.

McCree found the mechanism that stored and released the throwing knives. He laid his poncho out and added the knives to the others. Curiously, he leaned Hanzo’s prosthetic up against the desk, within reach of Hanzo’s arm.

Hanzo watched McCree with a detached, dream-like feeling as McCree added the sake from earlier to the pile of knives. As an after thought, He then added the empty container of sake that was on Hanzo’s desk to the pile as well.

Hanzo handed McCree his right leg and McCree added the leg’s trio of knives to the now large pile. Hanzo half expected McCree to keep his right leg unlike his left, but no, McCree set it down within reach of Hanzo as well.

McCree then did something that confused Hanzo- he stood and took off his holster. He set his holster and by extension, his weapons, onto the red cloth. McCree picked up the cloth, fashioning it into a bag by tying the ends together so it looked like a misshapen, blood red gyoza.

Hanzo wanted to laugh at it but he couldn’t find the energy.

“I’m only taking your weapons away for a moment cause I think you run the risk of hurting yourself,” McCree said as he picked up the pile of weapons and alcohol up in his poncho-thing

McCree then walked out of the room briskly, his spurs jingling. He deposited the bag on the other side of the door. McCree came back with a call of: “Athena, watch our stuff, also, implement a joint claim of this room.”

“You are aware that my programming does not allow you to claim a room with a unwilling or unaware partner as per rule Hyper Retina 12,429.”

Hanzo rubbed at his stumps gently, feeling the world come into a clearer focus again. He was still sat, without legs, a blanket around him, weaponless, huddled under a desk. Shame was one hell of a thing, and this position was even more shameful than he could have imagined.

“Fine, Athena. Go ahead and tell him what it means.” McCree said as he chewed on a one of his small cigars.

Athena explained in Japanese that McCree was essentially saying that he wanted to share the room with Hanzo. She explained that she would ask permission from them both, if they were in the room, before answering the door for them, and she would change the nameplate from a blank display to “Agent Jesse M. and Agent S. Hanzo”.

She explained that the room had been unclaimed before, which is why it didn’t lock. She believed that McCree was using a loophole, as Hanzo was not allowed to claim or lock his own room, but a joint room claim was never discussed nor forbidden.

McCree most likely wanted to watch him closer, to make sure that he was not a threat to anyone on the Watchpoint. A small part of his brain said it was because McCree cared about the safety of Genji’s brother as well, but he shoved that thought right into the looping chant of his dragons.

Hanzo nodded tiredly, briefly forgetting that Athena could not see into the rooms. He shifted in the small space, leaning against the cool wall and his pillow. “That would be fine, Athena. I have no objections.”

The lights in the room pulsed once. “It is done.”

“Alright, so, do you want me to get anyone?” McCree asked again as he tapped away at the panel by the door.

“No. It is bad enough that you have seen me in this state. I do not require assistance,” Hanzo gruffed out. He felt trapped but there was nowhere to flee to, and his legs were not on.

“Look, pal, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing when it comes to handling emotions, but even I can see that you need a little help. You’ve been on the verge of tears this entire time,” McCree said softly, accusation missing in the timbre of his voice.

Hanzo groaned, feeling the prickle of tears behind his eyes. “Do not remind me.”

“Now hold up there, Hanzo-san, there is nothing to be ashamed of about crying,” McCree muttered as he sat down on the floor, he was just out of Hanzo’s reach, and it was a good distance of space in terms of making Hanzo feel not completely boxed in.

Hanzo pulled his blanket over his shoulders. “Yes, there is.”

“I really don’t think there is- are you okay to stay here without hurting yerself?” The cowboy asked.

Hanzo nodded, and McCree left him alone in the room.

Quietly, and oh so slowly, Hanzo felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. He didn’t make a sound, no gasping, shuddering breaths, no sniffing, no sobs. He just cried. He was too tired to do anything else. He was too tired to keep himself together.


	8. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the last chapter, Jesse struggles with his conflicting feelings on whether or not Hanzo is a threat. Also, Jesse showing affection to floating things controled by others pt. 2

 

It wasn’t a mistake, no, he knew what he was doing.

  
He set Athena to the task of watching the archer, of course. For everyone’s safety.

Jesse figured that he had done the decent thing, because the decent things he did always had a way of causing him trouble in the future.

Jesse sure as hell wasn’t going to let the rest of the team take the ability from Hanzo now that he had it, only prisoners and children shouldn’t be allowed to lock doors in Jesse’s opinion, and Hanzo was neither of those things.

Looking back to the worrisome situation, it was a decent mistake, an honest mistake, and one of the few good mistakes that Jesse had made, if there ever even existed such a thing. It made his head spin and his deadeye ache. His fingers and mouth both itched for a trigger and a cigar respectively.

Some of the agents had just learned about Hanzo’s existence and then his past in the span of one meeting. That was only a few hours ago.

Tension between the group and Hanzo would be higher around this time.

They might possibly check in on Hanzo’s location around base using Athena. They might even go so far as to demand his weapons to prevent him from harming his brother again, even though Hanzo had hesitated to even pick up his butter knife in front of Genji during breakfast the day before.

Completely setting aside any mounding evidence that proved the validity of Hanzo’s regret, or at least, how good of an actor Hanzo was- the others didn’t understand the _very basic and easy_ idea of hospitality in the face of a potential threat.

For example, you could make a person feel so incredibly welcomed even if you never turned your back to them in case they tried to stab it. You could make a threat feel so welcomed that they betrayed their original side for yours, like how Jesse had eventually agreed to betray Deadlock back in the day.

Jesse had felt comfortable sharing rooms with the very same Blackwatch agents who had taken part in the initial raid, and he knew they made it that way on purpose even though they didn’t trust him none. It was to convince him onto the path of a bloody redemption, paved with bodies but still a redemption, somehow-

You could kill with kindness while keeping a “friendly” eye on them, instead of offering open hostility and getting nowhere with them. After all, jaws tended to lock then.

People doubted Jesse’s skill as an agent of Blackwatch because he was so “friendly” and “open”. He just told the others things that they could easily look up about him or things that were of no real significance and that apparently made him “open”. Yeah, good joke.

With a warm smile, a hat tip, and a thank you, he managed to worm his way into people’s hearts. Like that sweet old lady, Miss Delilah Bramble on the hyper train who let wanted criminal Jesse McCree sit next to her even though there were bodies of the people he had killed in the empty car nearby.

She had talked to him for some of the trip. It wasn’t just a “hey, thanks for saving my life” it was her talking ‘bout her cats and excitedly showing him a picture of her grandson and his husband and complaining about her arthritis when Jesse had asked her how she was holding up. It was all because he had used his goddamn manners like his mama had taught him.

(Also, he was fairly certain that it might have been that way because Miss Bramble came from a different plane of existence entirely. She showed no fear during that entire encounter. That was besides the point.)

Jesse McCree would try to treat Hanzo kindly. “Try” was the key word, Hanzo got under his skin like a splinter for some reason and Jesse knew himself to be a hot-headed individual.

So he would try to be more like Miss Bramble and make someone feel welcomed even though they were probably a whole lotta trouble in the skin of a stranger.

He was going to try to be more like Agent Lex, who called Jesse by a different famous cowboy name for every day of the week. Sundays were “Eastwood”, the best, and Mondays always followed with “Woody”, the worst, as they always called out “there’s a snake in mah boot!” when they saw Jesse.

They knew what they were doing back then, assigning lovable Lex “The Butcher” Tumlan as his bunkmate.

So Jesse would try to be just a bit like everyone who’d ever been pleasant to him even if he was seen as a threat.

That was a topic of thought for later, just like many other things, Jesse decided.

He hoped that Hanzo could forgive him for going against what he said and getting help. Was he doing the right thing by doing that? Maybe.

It would also be nice to have people on his side for when the eventual shit show with the rest of the group happened.

He went to the kitchen to get Hanzo water and food and was grateful for his luck. He found Genji there with his master, Zenyatta. The kitchen was empty other than them. Genji looked at him with a smile on hiis face and Jesse almost felt bad about what he was about to say, not only for Genji, but for Hanzo as well.

“Genji, your brother is having a breakdown in his room so I claimed it and locked the door. I made a mistake, I know-”

“McCree.” Genji set his teacup down. He moved to get up and Jesse continued to ramble.

"Listen, I fucked up, I know we weren’t supposed to let him be in a locked room alone,” Jesse mumbled as he opened the fridge.

As Jesse dug two strawberry waters out, his arm brushed against one of Zenyatta’s orbs and he nearly grabbed it and chucked it at the monk before he remembered that Zenyatta was just trying to calm him down.

“Getting worked up will not help the current situation,” it reminded him with its golden light. He let it press against his palm and then he pushed it out of the way to dig into the cabinets.

The orb lazily orbited around his neck. It gave him the feeling of settling down after a long day, racing thoughts replaced by a peaceful thoughtfulness.

Jesse didn’t spare a look at Zenyatta or Genji, focusing on his own checklist. Safety, comfort, liquids, foods, distraction... Hanzo would eventually need a distraction, he was all alone with his problems.

Hanzo would be okay. Jesse was going to make sure of it because Hanzo was one of the most important people to Genji now. Despite Hanzo being Hanzo, he still deserved to live, he still deserved a second chance.

“I took his sharp weapons, so he shouldn’t hurt himself or anybody else too badly, I hope. And I have Athena monitoring his room for any signals in or out. She’s also monitoring any movement or sounds,” Jesse elaborated as he pushed cans aside, looking for something that Hanzo might eat.

“Jesse,” Genji eased.

“He just looked so- well I reckon he looked like he was about three seconds away from ending it all,” Jesse stumbled on his words as he grabbed a small bag of chips that he had seen Hanzo eat after training once before. He tucked them under his prosthetic arm and trapped them against his chest with the waters.

Jesse looked and saw that Zenyatta was standing, arms clasped behind him, the rest of his orbs spinning slowly around his neck.

“You did not make a mistake. Is he okay?” Zenyatta reassured.

“Athena, is Agent Hanzo still in our room?” Jesse’s voice stretched carefully around the word “our”.

“He is. I have also I inquired him his physical and emotional state.”

“What did he say?” Genji stepped towards the door.

“He said nothing and instead laughed,” Athena reported.

“Ask again.” Jesse began to walk towards what had previously been an unclaimed room that Hanzo was allowed to stay in.

There was a pause in the trio’s conversation, well, if you were counting Athena it was four. They waited for Hanzo’s response to Athena as they walked the short distance to Hanzo’s room.

If you wanted to get really technical on how many people were in on this conversation, it was maybe five or six or heck- even seven- depending on if Athena was relaying information to Winston who could be sharing that information to Lena. Or more.

The loud noise of his spurs nearly covered the quiet taps of Genji and Zenyatta’s footsteps, he stretched his toes and engaged the mechanism in his boots that kept his spurs from jingling. It was always a sudden change, to go from sounding like a cat with a goddamn bell having a seizure to having his feet hit the ground without a sound.

“He has told me to tell Agent McCree to leave him alone, albeit with harsher words. He then told me to let him quote ‘wallow in peace’ end quote. He sounds distressed, but has made no significant movement from his original position.”

Genji was still with him, and Zenyatta was hovering not too far behind, his orb had retreated from Jesse.

“Athena, can you unlock and open the door?” Jesse asked as he got closer to the room.

Jesse entered the room and held a palm out to tell the master and student to wait in the doorway.

He squatted down and set the chips and water onto the ground within reach of Hanzo. He looked at the man, eyes obviously reddened rom crying. Jesse, ever the gentleman, let out a little “howdy” with an equally tiny smile and a hat tip.

He then stood up and took several steps back, dropping to a cross legged seat on the floor.

The archer’s jaw was clenched, the image was both ruined and made better the fact that he was curled on his side under a desk. At least he was as comfortable as he could be there. Hanzo Shimada was no small man, but he was shorter than McCree, and could fit himself into the small area easier than McCree could ever think of doing.

In return to Jesse’s “howdy”, Hanzo grunted in a way that could almost be interpreted as a greeting and a thank you all at once, or maybe it was just Jesse’s wishful thinking. Hanzo wiggled a tattooed arm out from under his blanket and grabbed one of the water bottles.

When Hanzo closed his eyes and pressed the water bottle against the side of his neck, Jesse discreetly glanced to where the ninja and the monk were paused in the doorway to make sure they were still there.

Pressing something cold to the neck was a gesture he had seen Genji do a few dozen times before he got homeostasis tech with the second generation of his cybernetics. Hanzo was most likely feeling overheated but he made no move to disengage himself from his cocoon.

It was probably soothing, to be wrapped up in a blanket, in a small space that protected five of your six sides from the room around you. It was a quiet and dimmed room- Jesse noticed that Hanzo had never turned the lights on when he had first entered the room.

Jesse patted his pocket and pulled out his cigarillo case, turning it over in his hand and rubbing his prosthetic thumb over the faded leather initials, not his. He decided against lighting up. He then tucked it back into his pocket.

“Hanzo-san, you have company here to talk to you.”

When Hanzo opened his eyes, his brows knit for only a split second, but then he looked as if even his bones themselves needed rest. Total exhaustion of the mind, body, and soul played across Hanzo’s typically stern face.

“Forgive me for not rising to greet you, Mr. McCree.” Hanzo gestured towards his prosthetics.

Jesse didn’t know if it was supposed to sound sarcastic or not. It did, but he used his self control not to chuckle at the fact that even in a situation like this, Hanzo might be trying to sass him.

Hanzo shuffled in his cubby, choosing to stare at the underside of the desk. He looked like he was reading, or at least trying to read, something written there.

“Do you want to talk?”

Hanzo closed his eyes again with an exhale. “No.”

Jesse glanced over to see that Genji had taken a silent step forward but was halted by Zenyatta’s hand. What were they waiting for? Permission? Actually, yes, they probably were waiting for exactly that. Great.

He was going to tell Hanzo that he had brought Zenyatta and Genji to see him and hope that Hanzo didn’t get angry. “Yer brother-”

Hanzo glared while he twisted open the bottle. “Please don’t.”

Jesse huffed a breath. “Fine.”

Jesse got up and walked over to Zenyatta. He pointed at an orb and then pointed to Hanzo and held out his hand. Zenyatta blessedly understood his wordless command and he dropped the heavy metal ball into Jesse’s prosthetic hand.

Genji was smiling softly while typing away silently at his comm’s holo surface. Jesse felt his comm buzz in his pocket. This was officially one of the weirdest clandestine missions he’d ever been on, and it wasn’t even a mission by any stretch of the word. He was just omitting the fact that Hanzo and him weren’t alone right now. Really the archer should have noticed by now, he was-

Hanzo huffed and moved, pushing the blanket off of his body and into the space in front of the desk. He looked like how a dragon in a cave might, he just needed smoke curling lazily from his mouth and a pile of treasure.

Jesse leaned down and handed Hanzo the orb. Hanzo looked at it with a blank face and then turned that same face to Jesse. He could usually read the archer better than this- but he had a sneaking suspicion exhaustion and pride had control over all of Hanzo’s expressions right now.

Hanzo turned away as the orb pulsed in his hands. “Thank you.”

Jesse nodded. “I’ll be around if’n you need.”

The door finally slid closed with Zenyatta on this side of the threshold and Genji on the other side. McCree looked at monk.

Hanzo scrambled to push further into the small space, and he held his hands in fists, dropping the ball into the space next to him.

“Howdy, Zenyatta.” Jesse waved at the omnic and Hanzo tensed before relaxing slightly.

“Greetings. I would like to speak with Hanzo-san.” Zenyatta’s voice was a clear metal bell.

Jesse watched as Hanzo’s lips pressed into a thin scowl and he untied his hair. The archer nodded, so Jesse walked towards the door. He half expected Zenyatta to take the chair, but instead Zenyatta hovered above the floor in front of Hanzo, around where Jesse had been sitting.

He exited the room while the healer and the archer presumably had a very meaningful staring contest. Genji was still typing away at his comm.

“So, you and my brother, huh,” Genji said as he pushed off the wall and followed after Jesse.

“Ain’t got a clue as to what you mean by that, pardner,” Jesse scoffed.

“I think you two do not hate each other nearly as much as it seems.” Genji smiled.

“Nah, I don’t think we really hate each other at all,” Jesse said, honestly trying to believe the words that Hanzo had said to him.

“You two would make good friends. You are the same brand of asshole. Stubborn, proud, alcoholic, and antiquated,” Genji snickered.

Jesse fixed Genji with glare. “Ya know, jest ‘cause we don’t hate each other don’t mean that we’re gonna be friends.”

The humor had drained out of Genji’s voice when he muttered, “I know.”

“I get that you want to protect yer brother and that you love him, but if you even so much as suggest that I got a crush on your backstabbing brother jest ‘cause I'm playing nice I swear I will rip you a new asshole, Grudgy,” Jesse pointed his finger at Genji’s chest, humor and indignation playing equal parts in his head.

  
“Very well.” Genji continued walking.

  
Jesse lit up a cigar while they walked the distance from the Watchpoint’s innermost dorms to the outside. It had been a long day, and he would need more nicotine in his system than what his cigarillos could give him. He had tried smoking cigarillos again for the sake of slowly easing off nicotine. Angela’s nicotine patches didn’t do shit for withdrawals typically.

  
He had originally gotten hooked on cigarettes as a tween, then he moved on to cigarillos when he joined Deadlock. When he became a more prominent figure in the Deadlock Rebels he began smoking cigars to match the cowboy persona he had made for himself as Jesse “Deadeye” McCree. He was good and addicted by the time, years of smoking under his belt.

  
Something caught his eye, a piece of graffiti on the wall. “Home 2067-2069,” it said proudly in what was most likely sharpie. 2069 was only around a year before the Swiss HQ had blown up. The writing had a sad little face drawn by it and what looked like someone’s initials in a different ink but Jesse couldn’t make out the chicken scratch.

  
Genji had said nothing as Jesse continued to walk them up a flight of stairs to a catwalk. His comm buzzed in his pocket again.

  
He thought about the history of the Watchpoint, how the great rock was so full of good stories long before Overwatch bought the prominent landmark and turned it into an orbital launch facility. A now abandoned launch facility turned into a base for a now internationally illegal organization.

  
Gibraltar had been a flourishing nature conservation until the fire. It was still a tourist location. It had also been a military outpost several times over the course of its history, including now.

They were technically a military, sort of.

Five messages from Genji and one from Zenyatta.

Jesse opened the one from Zenyatta first, glad to be told that Hanzo was doing slightly better. Zenyatta noted that Hanzo said he was grateful for the food and water, as he had not eaten or drank anything since the day before. Zenyatta reassured Jesse that he had done the right thing.

  
Then Jesse opened up the messages from Genji.

  
Cyborg Ninja: ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿.

  
Cyborg Ninja: Story time. My brother used to hide in small spaces frequently as a child and teen. It comforted him and I am so glad to see him and in a way I am glad to see that he is still doing that. Don’t tell him that I told you that, of course.

Cyborg Ninja: Also!!! You being soft and nice should be illegal!!!! I am so glad to have you as my friend, McCree. man do you look great with a kind smile on your face. you big ass nerd

Jesse startled at that one. Yep, Genji sure had come a long way from the bitter asshole that he was in the beginning. He had never been so openly affectionate unless he was piss drunk, simultaneously thinking affection below him but also too good for him.

Only after Genji had been fully immersed in the culture of Blackwatch- the culture of snarling desperate people who tended to seek affection from their teammates after near-death experiences- did he even attempt to be anything more than stiffly courteous to his fellow teammates.

Cyborg Ninja: Also, I’m not saying you have a crush on my brother, nor implying that he has a crush on you- but him being vulnerable is something that few people are allowed to see. (Going off of my knowledge of Hanzo in the past)

Cyborg Ninja: Also!!! You don’t have to be his friend but please continue to treat him as an ally as much as possible. He needs some allies.

Jesse sat down on the catwalk and Genji sat down with him. Jesse swung his arm over his friend’s shoulder and they talked quietly about what the plan was from that point on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo: “Tell Mr. McCree to fuck off.”
> 
> Athena: “Very well, I shall deliver this message. However, you have not answered my question about your current wellness.”
> 
> Hanzo: “You can fuck off too, Athena, let me wallow in peace.”


	9. Moving On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo calms down with the help of Zenyatta and Genji. Hanzo has many conversations but this chapter is mostly just him and hardly any McCree. McCree is mentioned like twice in this chapter, so, yeah.
> 
> Anyways if you are here for quality brotherly bonding and the rebuilding of a shattered relationship- I got you.

Zenyatta had talked with Hanzo until the sticky feeling of self hatred dissolved from his throat. A silence took over his dragons completely, they were giving him no feedback, no words, no scorn.

The two of them talked some more. Zenyatta’s voice was admittedly soothing, despite the metallic edge to it.

It wasn’t as if Zenyatta had said anything Hanzo hadn’t hoped to himself before, but he was saying it in new ways, without the doubt or the self hatred clouding it. He was saying it as such an absolute- Genji had forgiven him, both him and Hanzo were alive, things had the potential to get better. Adversity was going to happen as Hanzo couldn’t control other people, but there was a possibility of acceptance here. Then Zenyatta said “Adversity is an opportunity for change” and they both went silent.

After the quiet moment started to strain with awkwardness, Zenyatta asked Hanzo if he thought that omnics had souls. Hanzo could not reply that they didn’t, but he also could not reply with certainty that they did. So he said that he did not know. The monk chuckled and mused, “Existence is a mystery, isn’t it?”

Hanzo thought that he might drop the subject after having gotten his answer, but instead they continued to talk about souls and the fact that Genji still had one and was now at peace with his cybernetics.

Zenyatta didn’t talk much, he delivered wisdom calmly and when he prompted questions he allowed Hanzo time to think before he answered them.

The monk asked about Hanzo’s feeling towards his own cybernetics- if they made him less human. Hanzo’s knee-jerk reaction was to say “No,” but then he thought about it and admitted that he didn’t know.

Zenyatta assured him that not knowing was okay, however being ignorant was not. They discussed semantics and how being ignorant was different to not knowing which was different than being naïve.

When Genji arrived later with food, the three of them talked about what honor meant to Hanzo now, and what Genji’s and Hanzo’s duties were.

They both agreed that they had a duty to Overwatch, at least for the moment.

Genji said it was his duty to himself to forgive Hanzo. When Hanzo said that it was his duty to Genji to continue to ask for forgiveness, the sparrow countered the point. Genji claimed that Hanzo’s duty to himself should be to forgive himself for the past.

The room stayed quiet until Hanzo agreed that Genji had a point. When Hanzo said he would try, his brother smiled.

As they ate, Hanzo asked if Genji was still able to taste and enjoy food. Genji gave Hanzo an incredulous look and told him that of course he could still enjoy food. Hanzo had done nothing to his jaw or tongue- those nightmares of him cutting out Genji’s tongue were just that, nightmares. Hanzo felt ashamed at having to ask but also relieved.

They talked about food for a while longer, but they moved onto the lighter aspect of it. Both bemoaned the change in ownership that Rikimaru went through a few years back and how the stock of the Bonsai Ramen had changed. It wasn’t bad, it just was different. It had been Genji’s favorite. Genji said he had tried to dislike it initially on the principle that it wasn’t the ramen he had grown up with, but even then it had its redeeming qualities. He said that he was secretly a little glad that they changed it, because it had too much salt in the past.

Genji revealed that it no longer came with an onigiri and a cup of tea. Hanzo was confused by the fact that there was still a picture on the menu that showed the set the last time he checked. He was also confused that the price hadn’t changed.

When Genji said he was glad that the extra food was no longer served with it, Hanzo felt an inexplicably bitter sense of nostalgia. He recalled that Genji would always give him the onigiri and the green tea that came with the dish and Genji confessed that he had forgotten.

Zenyatta asked what Hanzo’s favorite part about dining at Rikimaru was.

Hanzo told him about the atmosphere, the feeling of being inside of Rikimaru, detached from the world and responsibilities for a while. Hanzo told him that had liked The Tastiest Ramen in the World, spicy option, and went on to explain that it hadn’t changed from their childhood.

Zenyatta inquired how it tasted. Hanzo found himself at a loss for words.

Hanzo tried to explain the experience of spiciness, Umami, and the texture of a soft boiled egg to an omnic while his brother chuckled at his failing efforts.

After Hanzo had said the phrase, Zenyatta wondered out loud what the difference actually was between “Wasabi type of spicy” and a “pepper kind of spicy”. Genji launched himself into Zenyatta’s lap while cackling. He gasped for air and repeated “not again!” over and over until he regained his breath.

Hanzo found himself so thoroughly endeared with the sight of his brother enjoying himself that he didn’t mind that it was at his expense. He tried again to explain the simple yet complex sensation of taste to the monk.

All three eventually got into a discussion about whether cinnamon was spicy or not. Zenyatta said yes while Genji and Hanzo said no. The omnic admitted defeat but only on the grounds that he himself could not taste anything to prove his point.

They continued to talk about lighter things, the brothers recalling good memories mostly. Zenyatta occasionally asked questions, made commentary, or pressed them for clarification. “You mean to say that your spirit dragons took form when you were inebriated, and someone attempted to touch them only to get bit? How is it possible that they are capable of doing that when they exist on a metaphysical level, tied loosely to the human realm? What that means in regards to the Iris, I wonder.”

The monk laughed jubilantly when Hanzo told the story of how Genji had fallen into a gutter filled with koi after an excursion in a village.

Genji’s eyes and nose scrunched up and Hanzo forced himself to chuckle a bit at the eerily familiar but unfamiliar sight.

Genji reminded him of his forgiveness when he caught Hanzo looking. When prompted, he told Hanzo about how lost he was back before he had found Zenyatta and forgiven Hanzo. He talked about how he was so angry in Blackwatch. He explained how he had slowly come to forgive Hanzo and how he had come to see his cybernetics as a unique experience.

At the end of the day, Hanzo slept under the desk, unwilling to put his legs back on, but feeling far better than he thought he ever could.

He still believed he didn’t deserve redemption, but Genji was offering it so sincerely

 

His back, stumps, and sides were pulsing in pain when he woke up. It wasn’t something that he couldn’t fix. It wasn’t as bad as it had been in the past, working himself down to the point of exhaustion, breaking his bones, blistering his skin. _Pain_.

He rolled out from under the desk, shoving the bedding under it without really thinking about it. He checked his comm and saw that it was four thirty in the morning,. The light of the holoscreen was still irritating yet he had it on the lowest brightness setting it could go. He shut the holoscreen off.

Without the light of the comm was nearly pitch black in his room, and that might have prevented anyone else from seeing what they were doing, but Hanzo could see very well in the dark. A very tiny crack of light seeped into the room from the door.

He pulled the chair closer to his desk. After that he pulled himself up onto the chair and into a sitting position using only his arms. He tied up his hair before he grabbed the cream off the desk to rub it onto his irritated stumps.

Thankfully, McCree had left his minimal toiletries and his clothes alone. However his razor was missing and McCree had taken his pain pills. They were prescription opioids and they were not Hanzo's prescription, so it made sense.

He worried for a moment that McCree might tell someone.

It wasn’t as if he used them frequently, or at all, even. They were just for if he got shot or something.

Hanzo leaned down to grab the water bottle that was between his two detached prosthetics.

Hanzo took a couple of over the counter pain pills, swallowing them with the rest of his strawberry flavored water.

He really liked that water. He pondered for a short while if Genji got the water specifically for him, Genji had never been a huge fan of strawberries in the past and had preferred chocolate. It would make no sense for Genji to be such a kind and thoughtful host, but with everything else Genji had done this past week, Hanzo realized that his brother had grown and changed from the stubborn playboy he knew.

Hanzo put on his legs on. When he changed out of his traditional garb and into his white sleeveless muscle shirt, he noticed a darker spot across his ribs. He pulled his baggy gray sweatpants over his legs. They came down to his ankles and he slipped his comm into one of the large pocket’s.

He kept the lights off, but took a look around his room.

He needed to do laundry at one point. He only had seven outfits, one being suffocatingly traditional. He was going to have to wear outfits over again if he didn’t wash them soon. He pulled on his sweatshirt, it was quite cold in the compound.

It felt like a weight was missing so he grabbed his unstrung bow and put it onto his desk. He picked up the unattached string nock, blessedly McCree hadn’t taken his bow. He held the string nock in place, open air surrounding it.

The dark room lit up with blue light from his tattoo and fingers. He ran two fingers and the thumb of his left hand across the space where a string usually was. It was almost like running his hand down an invisible string, but there was truly nothing there until after he touched the space. Where his fingers traveled, a glowing bow string was spun purely from his dragon’s power. He secured the string to the other end and plucked it once to test the tension. It dulled from an electric blue to a transparent, watery mid tone blue. It was good that his dragons were obeying.

He always loved restringing his bow, he had learned how to do it that way while he was traveling and it saved him so much money and time and he could string and unstring it with ease. It would never snap, it could still hurt him if he wasn’t careful, but it would never break on him. He still kept an extra string in his bow case.

He could literally unstring his bow with a snap and a word. He hated unstringing it for safety reasons but he liked to give the dragons a break occasionally, they seemed less angry when he did.

He pulled his bow over his shoulder, feeling the weight of it against this back. He had a weapon. He was a weapon.

Breakfast could wait, but Hanzo wanted tea.

The light was not harsh in the Watchpoint, white track lights near the ground lit the path. Hanzo could see exceptionally well in the dark, so it did not help much. There was a moment where his vision blurred ever so slightly while adjusting to the change.

He walked slowly, hearing voices and the sound of something scraping in the kitchen.

There he found Dr. Ziegler and Agent Pharah having a cup of coffee together while Dr. Ziegler made something on the griddle that he presumed to be the pair’s breakfast.

They said nothing to him as he came into the room. He muttered a “greetings” to alert them of his presence. He considered the kitchen as he searched for the kettle.

The room was large, commercial in design, yet filled with things that were entirely strange for a commercial kitchen to have, things such as personalized mugs in the same place that the standard black mugs were stored. In the steel cabinets were pots, pans, and miscellaneous junk food. On the counters were large containers of spices next to a rice cooker with stickers on it, which was most likely Genji’s.

The kitchen connected to the dining room but was somewhat separated from it by a low wall with a small counter on it. They had previously eaten at the large island in the kitchen, and there were chairs still pressed flush under the large metal workspace.

Hanzo paused his search for a kettle briefly, the room’s lights were dim, still set to night mode just like the hallway lights. He knew the large kettle was around somewhere but it seemed to move to a new location each day.

Hanzo looked into the dining room, having heard a very faint scraping noise coming from there. It turned out to be a cleaning bot, scuttling across the wall with determination. The dining room had a window and yet Hanzo could see that the sun had not risen yet.

He returned to his search, he reminded himself to make sure he was not on the AI’s bad side, after the day before. She had a tendency to be callous and swift with punishment.

He had been expecting a threat, or at the very least open hostility from the two women in the kitchen with him. However, had resumed their conversation about music around the same time that he had continued his search. Dr. Ziegler had casually leaned into Pharah’s space, looking over a playlist. They were old friends, perhaps, but something about the stiff way that Pharah was speaking was off if they were.

Hanzo was not observing them too obviously, he was still looking for a kettle after all.

If Hanzo remembered correctly, Dr Ziegler had been a prodigy doctor, finishing her schooling at age 18. Within the next year she became the head of surgery at a prominent Swiss hospital before Overwatch recruited her. She was one of those people who when you heard their name on the news you sat up and paid attention.

Agent Pharah looked younger than Dr. Ziegler, but not by much, perhaps a few years.

The doctor chuckled and said “you listen to that?” and the Egyptian soldier turned her head away. So, that was it.

When he couldn’t find the tea kettle, Pharah pulled it out from a cabinet near her that he had not looked in for the sake of offering them space. He said small thank you and started filling it with water from one of the large sinks.

Hanzo turned on the stove after a bit of fumbling with the knob.

He had half a mind to look at his comm. He even briefly considered abandoning making tea, but he was too far into the process now to abandon it. He needed to save face as much as possible, and fleeing social situations was cowardly. He was in debt, trying to slowly gain some semblance of dignity, some small piece of good.

Dr. Ziegler pointed at something on Agent Pharah’s holoscreen and chirped “that one” in German before she corrected herself by clearing her throat.

“Do you mind if we play music?” The soldier said. It wasn’t a question. Hanzo nearly grunted a response before he realized it was phrased in a way where he would have to say something to avoid confusion.

“I do not mind at all,” he said, and then he found himself listening for the sound of spurs before he said, “as long as it is not Country music.”

Agent Pharah gave a forced smile at the statement and tapped her screen.

A guitar riff slowly built in intensity. It wasn’t bad music, he supposed.

Hanzo got out a black mug and his thermos while the water boiled. He then dug out a tea bag. Genji insisted that he was welcomed to anything in the kitchen that had the clan name written on the packaging in marker, and despite his initial hesitation, he found himself sharing food with his brother.

The thermos was a cheap little thing- putting it in the shared kitchen had made him feel wrong but also like he was welcomed, if that was possible. Genji had all but demanded that Hanzo store his thermos next to his and some other people’s thermoses.

Genji joked that it made his own thermos look better, no longer the ugliest duckling of the group’s collection of thermoses. Hanzo had agreed but countered that the designs of their thermoses were both somewhat ugly.

Hanzo’s was this horrendously bright shade of fuschia. It caught any light and reflected if back like a warped mirror. It had scratches all over it where it had rolled down streets. It sported a dent by the bottom where it had connected with an omnic’s head when Hanzo was ambushed on a hyper train in America and had to fight his way out. It’s brand name was worn off.

Genji’s was the color of his dragon. He had most likely bought it for the words “don't touch me I’m weird” in English sprawled across it. The phrase was a shade of neon yellow that was hard to distinguish from the background color. It was an eye watering sight.

Once the water was done boiling, Hanzo turned off the stove and poured all the water into his horrendous fuchsia thermos with the tea bag. Then he set the empty kettle on the back burner, since it really should have a constant place in the kitchen. That place was as good as any.

Hanzo enjoyed the morning in his room, he had simulations with McCree at 7. He sat at his desk and typed out a conversation with Athena. She was a great conversationalist. She was almost human in her responses, if you could ignore the fact that her responses were near immediate in a way that only programmed beings were capable of. Even Omnics took some time to think of an answer. Athena didn’t think.

He played with the bow on his desk and wondered if McCree would ever give his other weapons back. He was lost in thought for a moment, so he didn’t answer Athena’s most recent message right away. She didn’t seem to mind.

She had asked him what his hobbies were. When he told her how he mostly passed the time reading, she told him of the small library that was in the west wing of the Papa corridor and gave him approximate directions how to get there.

Athena informed him that there were locations that he was not allowed to go into without explicit permission from a senior officer, namely Winston or Tracer. He was given no map of the Watchpoint and was not told the locations of such areas. He understood why.

He asked Athena what her hobbies were, not expecting a real answer from the AI beyond the answer that she had none.

She responded, “I cannot truly enjoy anything beyond my primary function of serving Overwatch and its members , as is dictated in my code. However, evidence strongly suggests that if I were not an AI and could think for myself, I would enjoy meddling in other people’s personal affairs, knitting, reading, and drawing.”

Hanzo could understand meddling, reading, and drawing, but knitting? He had no clue how the AI, stuck in a base and only allowed to move through cleaning bots and drones, would even attempt such a feat.

Also there was the worrying fact that her response strongly implied that she had previously thought about it in order to formulate that response. Maybe Athena could think after all.


	10. Moving in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for Hanzo's POV

Hanzo didn’t really have time to point out to the AI that she was, in fact, probably sentient.

That was because McCree swept into the room then, a personalized coffee mug in his hand and a unlit cigar perched in his lips. It was five in the morning, two hours before their scheduled meet up in the simulation room.

McCree said nothing, instead choosing to stand there silently. Hanzo stopped playing with the string of his bow on his desk and looked up at McCree again.

McCree was dressed down- if dressed down meant that one was missing their hat, wearing a flannel, jeans and wearing no body armor. He did not wear his brown leather gloves either, nor his poncho thing. Hanzo had only seen McCree without the poncho and the gloves once before, while the gunslinger was in the kitchen and making pancakes.

Hanzo glanced down. Oddly enough the gunslinger had a only one gun resting in only one holster. One of the cowboy’s hands rested nearby the obnoxious belt buckle with his cigar while the other brought his coffee cup to his lips.

He took a short sip of coffee, eyes looking everywhere but at Hanzo.

“Alright, so," McCree started, voice like a soldier's, "I talked ta Winston and he said I have to move into this room with ya. Congrats, we’re roomies, hope ya don’t mind.”

He said it with such a finality and Hanzo felt his face twist downwards at the fact that there was probably no way to rectify or change the situation without stepping on both McCree’s and the scientist’s toes. Hanzo still needed to save face, so he swallowed his complaint down with his tea.

“I do not mind at all.” For the second time that morning he found himself saying the phrase to a non-question. He poured another cup of tea from the thermos, it was the last cup.

They would miss training together in a simulator that day, McCree claimed that Winston insisted that they take the day off.

Hanzo had felt better after his talk with the omnic monk. In addition to that, the distraction of figuring out how they were going to fit two very large men into such a small space was welcomed, even though it made Hanzo’s pride hurt a little. It was the first time he had ever shared a room with a person besides for small trips with his family.

When he was on the road, he had opened his bed to people before- he was on the road, never staying long enough to settle down- but he had never been roommates with anyone besides his brother. There was no real need.

They started to address the issue of the room. After a suggestion from McCree, they began planning on absorbing the neighboring unclaimed room. Athena let them have it on a technicality that nowhere in the programming did it say that one room couldn’t have two doors, or that the rooms had to remain as they were. She still would ask both of them for permission before opening the door for someone and she would state which door they were at.

The technology in the dorms was like the simulation room, except without built in holograms or bots. Walls fell away and rose in much the same way that the blocks did but over a longer period of time. It was less advanced than the tech in the simulation. Adaptive design, Hanzo recalled, was a fairly expensive thing and was typically only made small scale outside of the military.

He set the program to make his walls change color, and they did, slowly shifting to be bluer. He also changed the color of the floor from light gray to a soft white.

The elite had entire buildings made to be adaptive design. As they did with anything that they got their hands on, they flaunted it as a symbol of wealth and power along with hard light products. Most of their designs were gaudy, focusing on the fact that they could have whatever style of house they wanted within a day.

The Shimada clan had avoided adaptive design in many of their buildings, instead focusing on the traditional. Also Japan is prone to earthquakes, so it wouldn’t have been wise.

The material that made adaptive design possible wasn’t easily able to be torn out once put in, so it had remained a feature of the Watchpoint.

There were limitations set that Athena couldn’t bring herself to ignore safely, even though the Watchpoint’s inhabitants were few and far between, spread over the large facility. Things like ventilation and electrical outlets were fixed in place, and so were the areas where their wiring and vents were.

They discussed the design of the space and decided it would be best if they had two separate areas but with a gap in the middle of the wall between their spaces in order to comply with Athena’s standard of “one room”. McCree called Hanzo over to his side, the previously uninhabited room to the left of Hanzo’s, to discuss the design of an archway.

The panel next to the door controlled the room. The lights, the sounds, the temperature, and most importantly, the design. The archway that McCree had designed on the panel in his room had a simple border that stuck out ever so slightly to give it a little character.

Hanzo agreed to the base design of it. However, Hanzo opposed to the dark, warm brown color of the trim, and they discussed what would look best in both of their planned designs of their spaces. Hanzo’s walls had finished their change in hue to a bluish-gray, his favorite color. McCree’s first idea for the border color was too warm and rich to match well with the rest of what Hanzo was thinking.

They stood in the empty hallway, with both doors open, trying to find a reasonable color.

Hanzo suggested they keep it white as he undid his hair and wrapped his ribbon around his hand. He watched as McCree looked back to the red terra-cotta colored walls of his room. McCree then stepped around Hanzo to look into the archer’s room.

Wordlessly, McCree stepped back into his own room and pressed a few buttons. The trim was then a golden yellow color. Hanzo agreed to the color, it was a nice match to both of their wall colors.

They had to agree to it on both of their panels, but once they did the program began to chisel out the entryway between the gunslinger’s side and Hanzo’s. They would have privacy if they put up a curtain

Hanzo tried to figure out how to work the program, specifically how to remove he loft, but he wasn’t getting very far.

The space slowly cleared out. A few minutes after McCree had set the program to run, Hanzo noticed McCree staring at him through the hole that would soon be a complete archway. McCree was oddly quiet, Hanzo did not know why.

They continued to work In their separate spaces, aware of each other for only flickers of time.

Hanzo figured out how to remove the loft bed. It was a pain get out of and was not disability friendly, so he was not sad to see it go. He set the program to dissolve the desk as well. He stored the ladder away and put his chair away in a storage closet.

The 3 inch thick, single mattress that the loft once held up was to be put onto a simple frame he would build using the adaptive design program.

Only the mattress, the bedding, Hanzo’s personal items, his thermos, the empty mug, and his bow remained in an otherwise barren room. McCree’s room had started as just an empty space not even a mattress. Now, he had matched the floor to the color that Hanzo had chosen for his own and had built a bed frame that was more detailed than Hanzo could hope for from the program.

Hanzo was working through the design of his own bed frame and got halfway through before getting frustrated. It was a simple design, a center block that held his bed up with a slight lip to keep the mattress in place. It worked, after a bit of insistence on his part.

Hanzo did not set the design to go, instead focusing on what location would be best. He had it in the location where the desk previously was, but instead he shifted it to be against another wall.

Having the bed against the wall was a habit that he had formed. He had spent years on the run and knowing what was behind him helped him sleep, he blamed his upbringing and the assassins that were sent to kill him.

Hanzo then focused on the headboard, which was really only a headboard in name because it was built out of the same material as the walls. He ran into an issue with the program. It kept over exaggerating what he wanted. No, he didn’t want a foot of wall at the head of his bed- it made it look weird. He just wanted a few inches of a headboard wall thing.

He groaned in frustration at the finicky program. He was hesitant to ask McCree for help, but it seemed like he had used this program before. Building things with the program was much different than erasing them.

McCree appeared in the archway, leaning against the golden-yellow frame. He stared at Hanzo and said nothing until Hanzo got frustrated enough to ask for help. McCree solved Hanzo’s issue by turning off a setting of the program.

He didn’t smile or crack a joke but it was obvious that the gunslinger was amused. It was seriously just three buttons to fix Hanzo's problem. Hanzo bit his cheek, feeling embarrassment rise up because of his blunder. He thanked the McCree as the cowboy went back to his own space.

Hanzo shifted the color of the headboard to be black, matching it to the bed frame. Then he set the program to actually build the bed.

Hanzo was debating whether an end table would be a good idea or not. He had built a bookshelf, it looked slightly wrong since it was empty, but Hanzo was sure that he could fill it with books from the library and other various things. He was now planning on staying for as long as Genji wished him to.

It was a honeycomb pattern with five honeycomb attached to each other in a seemingly random pattern, and the simple geometric design was pleasing to Hanzo’s eye. He then set it to be a light blue, even going so far as to call his dragons out slightly just to see if he matched the blue to their electric hue.

“ _Frivolous_ ,” they said, though it wasn’t really a complaint. They were proud creatures, and doing small things like this made them preen.

It was surprising when McCree asked for help from Hanzo regarding designing something. McCree’s own large bed frame was ornate compared to Hanzo’s- he explained that it was a design he had gotten from someone when Hanzo brought the point up. The cowboy's bed was in the middle of his room, large and somewhat imposing in the space. Hanzo breifly wondered if McCree was going to get a mattress from his old room.

McCree wanted shelves in his room, but needed a help to make them look good. His design was clunky and quite honestly terrible looking.

McCree was a delight to work with on the designing of the shelves. He knew what he wanted but wasn’t pushy or demanding. He was quiet and thoughtful when Hanzo needed to focus on the design process and somehow talkative only during the moments when Hanzo didn’t need to focus.

He never pressured Hanzo into talking, continuing happily when Hanzo gave and interested noise or an affirming grunt. He only smoked a cigar after asking Hanzo if he could. He was thoughtful, even going so far as to offer to never smoke in their room. Hanzo found himself saying that he didn’t mind for a third time, and this time it was more genuine.

He began talking about how how the humidity here was killing him and how water evaporated so much quicker in the Southwest United States. “Don’t ya laugh at me, it’s a very real complaint!”

He talked about dry deserts that had warm rocks and freezing nights wrapped in his _serape_.

“So that is what it's called,” Hanzo thought to himself.

McCree told of animals that scuttled across the ground, and the way that heat impacted vision, giving it wavy areas above the ground where nothing looked quite real and images moving far off that were never real and would never be real. He spun a tale of mirages, dehydration, and heat stroke nearly beating him when the men with guns after his bounty couldn’t.

He told of the Deadlock rebels, how he used to have a motorcycle with an actual set of wheels and how it had an engine that burned gasoline. He said it purred like how Genji’s dragon did, and Hanzo wondered when the last time was that he had heard Genji’s dragon purr. He hadn’t let out his own since November and they were getting restless-

McCree went on to claim that he once had a motorbike named “Bessy” and he looked wistful for a moment and then said that she had probably been stolen, destroyed, or left to rust in the dry, unforgiving desert.

The gunslinger said that he always imagined himself as a lone rider in a cowboy movie when he was riding that bike across Route 66.

He talked about his favorite movies then, all different types of Macaroni Westerns, Hanzo assumed upon hearing a few titles and their brief descriptions. He said he hated “Six-Gun Killer” and preferred western movies from the 2030’s back to the originals.

McCree also listed a surprisingly a few modern romance movies that Hanzo wouldn’t expect him to enjoy.

The gunslinger said that he liked a few war movies that focused on the first Omnic Crisis, though he complained about the realism. “Ya got all these people, these characters, acting like being enlisted was one of the best things to happen to them, and don’t even get me started on movies that have SEP characters-”

After his rant, where Hanzo learned more second-hand than he ever wanted to know about what Morrison and Reyes had gone through during the SEP, McCree asked him if he had a favorite type of movie or a type he despised.

Hanzo admitted to his slight obsession of the style of Film Noir. When McCree didn’t stop him from talking, he went on to say that he had never really liked movies early in his life.

Genji was the one who loved watching movies out of the two of them. He specifically loved The Princess Bride. He had managed in the past to have crushes on Princess Buttercup, Westley, and Inigo Montoya all at once.

Genji had even learned fencing because of the fight scene between Inigo and Westley. He had made Hanzo watch the movie seven times in a row once when they had a day off of training, Hanzo recounted that much to McCree. Then Hanzo went on to say that he now hated the movie somewhat. He knew most if not all of the iconic lines. He would still watch it in a heartbeat if Genji ever asked him to.

McCree’s eyes crinkled up slightly. “I think Genji quoted a line from it sometime during an interrogation? I forgot what he said exactly but the person tied to the chair pissed themself, literally got so scared by this ninja wielding a sword and quoting a goddamn fantasy movie.”

“I would hazard a guess that he said ‘You seem nice. I hate to kill you.’ It is the one quote that he threw around everywhere, including to the servants. Even though he said-” Hanzo caught himself using the past tense for a second time. “He probably _still_ says it wrong even after watching the movie so often.”

McCree blinked as he inspected one of the finished shelves, he then placed his mug on it. He turned to Hanzo. “How’d we get on the topic o’ Genji? I asked ya for your favorite type of movie. Tell me more about Film Noir.”

Hanzo told McCree that watching a revivalism-Noir film after he had left the Shimada Clan had changed his mind about movies entirely. He loved movies now.

That movie, _Man’s Remedy_ by Colton Blythe had sent Hanzo into a frenzy of researching everything about the style. He had also researched Colton Blythe hoping that she had made another Noir style movie, she didn’t- she did comedies and romance and one very strange horror film that had been such a complete flop it wasn’t even ironically watched. Hanzo hated that he watched every single movie of Blythe’s to determine if he liked Noir or just liked the director.

Over his years on the run from assassins, during the times when he was safe enough to spare a few hours, he found out he liked classic-Noir, neo-Noir, and revivalism-Noir. He liked everything Noir.

Surprisingly, that included _Blade Runner_ _2049_. He didn’t typically like movies that were set in the future that was now the past and had gotten it wrong. He despised _sequels_ of such movies that predicted the future again and still got it wrong. _Blade Runner 2049_ was the only exception.

McCree snorted at that as Hanzo set the program to create yet another part of the shelves that McCree had approved.

Hanzo explained how he liked the use of black and white in the movies that chose to be black and white for a reason. He loved the ones from even before film even had color. He felt a blast of nostalgia for a time that was around a century ago. He liked the low-key lighting and how it casted the characters in silhouette. He liked the intrigue and mystery that most of them carried, he liked the fatalism and cynicism.

He liked how every victory was hard won, most enemies competent, most mysteries unsolved. Unclear themes of ambiguous morals took center stage as opposed to wrapping up loose ends. He liked the gangsters and Yakuza, who were even sometimes hinted at being gay even in the classics and the neo-Noir movies. He liked the bad guys like him, however questionable their choices were throughout the film. “Seriously, one time the gangster had a machine gun out but yet he let the protagonist threaten him?”

He could forgive the fact that all the classic ones and a good chunk of the neo-Noir ones he had seen only had straight relationships, they were made in a time in which that was the only good representation in media. He even liked some of the Femme Fatales of those days, though they didn’t really do anything for him besides intrigue him with their mysteries and maybe be aesthetically pleasing.

He liked the rich, deep voices of the male protagonists and that thing where the light poured in through the windows and shades and casted shadows across people’s faces looking like bars trapping them. He enjoyed the really asshole-ish characters that were jaded but still sweet at heart. Also the smoking that certain male characters did was really nice, stylistically obscuring their faces. He also appreciated it in a less stylistic sense, and he expressed as much to McCree.

McCree didn’t say anything in response. Hanzo thought to himself that being gay was not a taboo outside of his closed minded, bigoted, orthodox, and abusive crime family.

He then realized that McCree had been staring at him as he gushed about a movie genre that was not universally considered a real genre but was still an important part in making the movie industry what it was.

So Hanzo apologized for rambling. He set the last of the shelves to run and he went back into his own space to make his bed.

McCree kept looking at Hanzo.

Hanzo then focused on the smaller details of his own room, and it seemed like McCree was doing the same. McCree would occasionally stop to make a comment on what Hanzo was doing. He jokingly told Hanzo not to put dreary things everywhere and Hanzo returned the favor by telling him not to “cowboy up the place”. McCree gave him an amused look before he tapped away at the panel, swiping his fingers across the holoscreen like he was dancing.

Hanzo turned away before McCree was finished, trying to determine if he should make a bedside table using the program. Once he had decided to make an end table, McCree called him over to see a spot slowly lighten into an upright horseshoe decal right above his bed, swirls presented themselves on either side of the horseshoe.

Hanzo could do this whole roommate thing. He could. Probably.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And they were roommates" vine but Mchanzo. 
> 
> Now this one. This chapter is pure. It's all Hanzo and McCree. I love this chapter simply for what it is, McCree moving into Hanzo's room.
> 
> Also, authors note because this deserves attention: Hanzo totally checked McCree out in this chapter, in case you didn't notice.  
> He even did the whole "look at the face and then rake the eyes down and then look back up" thing. I cackled as I wrote it.
> 
> Just, ugh, these two staring and glancing at eachother and acting like dickwads sometimes but also being somewhat reasonable and kind. They aren't in love- they aren't even friends but they are roommates on the same team that find eachother attractive. It's a fucking START.
> 
> Also, a lot of personal bullshit is going on in my life right now so writing this chapter just soothed my soul. I know that y'all probably don't care but I hope this chapter makes y'all feel okay and safe for a little while.
> 
> Anyways back to the fanfiction. If they aren't together is it counted as Fluff?? No? At least they aren't being dicks to eachother.


	11. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo and McCree settle into a routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note at the end explains Military time.

Jesse gave Hanzo his weapons and other personal items back. Although he didn’t feel comfortable sleeping the night after he gave them back.

Hanzo had quickly set up a deliberate morning routine and that settled some of the anxiety that Jesse faced about sharing the space with Hanzo. If Hanzo drifted from the routine at all that meant something was up. If Hanzo acted somewhat strange, that would mean something was up.

It didn’t ease all of Jesse’s anxieties, in fact, it made a few more in its place.

What if Hanzo was tricking him by making him trust the routine? The gaps of time that Hanzo had woven into his routine were enough time to cause trouble. Jesse didn’t trust the routine, but knowing where the archer might be during the morning had helped ease the primal fight response that Jesse possessed.

No trouble had come yet- didn’t mean trouble wasn’t gonna come eventually, but it hadn’t yet. It had been three weeks since Jesse moved in and Jesse knew Hanzo’s routine practically by heart now.

Hanzo would be out of bed at exactly 0550, no matter how he had slept the night before. Jesse would wake up around this time too if he wasn’t already awake. It was a little startling each morning to hear the soft noise of fabric shifting in the room next to him, but he eventually relaxed a little after the second week had passed.

After getting up, the archer would put his legs on and get dressed in the dark as Jesse lied there. Jesse’s actions during that time were typically split between staring at his eyelids while pretending to be asleep or looking at his unused alarm clock and wondering how it was that Hanzo had an internal clock like no other person he had seen. If Hanzo doubted Jesse’s slow breathing as he pretended to be asleep that particular morning, he didn’t say anything.

Once Hanzo was dressed and had his legs on, he would then turn on the lights on his side of the room. Jesse knew that Hanzo purposefully let his feet make noise while treading across the room. Jesse also knew that turning on the lights wasn’t for the archer see-

Hanzo most likely had inherited the same wicked good eyesight that Genji had.

Jesse would cover his eyes with his arm then, protecting his vision from the light of Hanzo’s room leaping over the curtain. It cast a semicircle of light onto Jesse’s bed.

Hanzo certainly had the same stealth ability as his brother. He had proven it during a simulator game of hide and seek in a simulated rain. Hanzo had won one round and Jesse had won one another by shooting the archer when Hanzo had slipped while climbing a wet wall. They had not done a third round, as both were getting hungry, and they agreed to put off the tie breaking for another day.

The archer purposefully made noises in the hazy hours before the Gibraltar dawn. Jesse used those noises to track him around the small room.

After turning on the light, Hanzo would then make his bed. Three minutes. Jesse timed him in his head each day as he listened to hands smooth over fabric. Three minutes of fussing over a bed that he would get back into later. Overwatch didn’t have the rule that your quarters had to be spotless and tidy anymore. No one here was going to enforce it. However, Hanzo had spent three minutes making his bed each morning for the past three weeks.

Hanzo would grunt and stretch after he finished making his bed. He spent the most amount of time in the morning doing stretches. Jesse silently counted the time it took him to do that each day as well, always the same amount of time each day. Hanzo had no alarms set that Jesse could hear, but maybe he had his earpiece in and had it set to remind him of his routine.

That would make sense with how exact it was.

Hanzo would then leave the room at exactly 0620. Jesse checked the time when he heard the door hiss close, just as he had for the past three weeks. Jesse made sure he had counted the times correctly, like every morning. Hanzo left his light on. It was an inexplicable and small part of Hanzo’s routine, but part of it nonetheless.

It was during that time that Jesse finally got out of bed and put his prosthetic on, despite the fact that he had been awake for half an hour or more. They both at least pretended that Jesse had been fast asleep until Hanzo left the room for the first time each morning.

Hanzo didn’t usually get back until after Jesse had finished changing in the dark of his room. Hanzo never said a word after he got back, even when Jesse turned his own light on, signaling that he was in fact up and fully dressed.

It was a silent cue that Jesse had picked up from Hanzo after the third day and he had rolled with it since then. They did the same thing with their lights at night but in reverse. It didn't matter what time they went to bed or even if one went to bed long before the other. They would turn their lights off, change in the dark, and then get into bed. Neither of them said anything about it- they didn’t have to at this point.

When Hanzo returned from his excursion at around 0625 it would be with a drink or some simple breakfast. This was the only moment in his routine that did not have an exact time value to it. Sometimes Hanzo returned at 0624 or 0626. One time he even returned at 0627.

Hanzo sat on the floor, enjoying whatever he was eating or drinking. He would occasionally light some incense during this time. The smell of it filled the air. Jesse didn’t mind that kind of smoke.

Jesse was always up, dressed, and had his light on during Hanzo’s breakfast time.

During this quiet time when Hanzo ate, Jesse would go over his own stuff, checking that nothing had been moved. When he was content that nothing had been changed in the slightest, he would make his bed. Not for nearly as long as Hanzo did. He kept his space clean and organized, however.

After Jesse was done with making his bed he would plop down on the edge with a book he borrowed from the library. He would light a cigar then. When whatever book he had borrowed for the library was starting to bore him, he read a chapter or so of one of the books that he had discovered in the locked chest that he now kept in his room. He had stolen the chest from the shared barracks.

Dr. Holden, the person who had abandoned the books, was a quite frankly a freak. Their literary choices were questionable and more than a little cliche. Jesse was three books into the collection of sixteen that Holden had.

Jesse fancied himself a romantic as well, but this- Holden was probably a very lonely or very loving person, or both, both was an option, in fact.

Holden had written such amusing annotations at certain parts of certain books, things like “ _please punch me in the kidneys this line is so good."_

He tried to imagine who Holden was as a person. They were very passionate about the books. Did that passion transfer into their work? What was their job all those years ago? Were they even still alive?

Jesse could typically hear Hanzo typing away at his comm during the time in which he read. Each day, Jesse would read for a little under half an hour and Hanzo would tap away at his comm.

Hanzo tended to make more noise once Jesse turned his light on. An amused huff of air or a bark of a laugh was let out occasionally from the archer, and Jesse wondered who it was that Hanzo was messaging. He could ask Athena, as Hanzo was technically still being monitored by the AI.

He assumed it was one of the agents, most likely his brother? Jesse hoped it was his brother, but sometimes it matched up to when Genji was away on a mission or a supply run. The comms were set to not allow communication between agents during those times. Winston was typically on base, so it might have been the scientist. Hanzo could have been getting along with one of the others, but it didn’t seem like it.

Hanzo would continue to sit on his floor until five minutes before seven. At that time he would leave again until seven. It was the only time that Hanzo was out of his room for an exact number of minutes each day.

Jesse didn’t trust it at all, but he took the opportunity anyways.

When Hanzo left the room during those five minutes, Jesse would quickly check for bugs or any suspicious activity in Hanzo’s side of the room. If Hanzo noticed, he said nothing about the matter.

After those five minutes Hanzo would come back to string his bow, doing so quickly and quietly. Jesse would be minding his own business, safely tucked away on his own side, continuing to read with the curtain drawn like it had been closed the whole time.

Hanzo would then knock on the archway at exactly 0700. When Jesse opened the curtain he wouldn’t be greeted with a “good morning” instead he would be met with the now routine question of “Ready?”.

Hanzo would stare at Jesse with his bow and quiver slung across his chest. Jesse would nod, as he had done for three weeks now. They would leave through each of their separate doors, turning the lights off as they left.

Jesse and the archer would head to the simulation room after Jesse got himself coffee from the kitchen. The kitchen was on the way to the training room anyway, but Jesse still appreciated that Hanzo allowed the little detour. Jesse would chug the near scalding hot beverage, not willing to waste anymore time than necessary on it. Not with the way that Hanzo looked at him when he took too much time on the fourth day of their routine.

It wasn’t as if they went without saying anything. However, Jesse realized fairly quickly that Hanzo wasn’t exactly willing to talk to him for long stretches in the morning. So Jesse let there be natural silences, and he joked when he thought the archer was getting too stuck in his own head.

When he had talked with Hanzo during the first week of sharing a room, he would call him the names of different famous archers. Hanzo seemed to hate each nickname, so Jesse ended up just calling him Hanzo-san. Things got easier after that, a little less tense. Hanzo didn’t mind Jesse calling him “archer” but Jesse used it sparingly regardless.

It was weird to call Hanzo by his first name, it felt wrong in the same way that calling Genji his first name had way back when. It was also weird to not call the elder Shimada a nickname either. Hell, Jesse even had nicknames for strangers on the street.

They would train for three hours together each day, except for Fridays, Winston let them have that day off. After simulations they would typically go their separate ways, occasionally meeting in the hallway or in the Mess Hall by chance. They never sought eachother out. On Fridays neither of them stuck around. Jesse had no idea what Hanzo did but the routine would be exactly the same until after he strung his bow. He would leave and not come back to the room until night.

They would meet back up at the room at night time, there was never a set time for bed, but Jesse always made sure to be back in the room before 2200. Coming back any later than that made him feel like a douche because he would accidentally wake the archer.

If Jesse was being entirely honest, the first two weeks as Hanzo’s roommate were hell. Hanzo was awoken several times by the Jesse’s insomnia and such. It went both ways. Hanzo’s thoughts would keep him up which would keep Jesse up. Neither of them talked about their insomnia, the light rustling of fabric at night told more than words ever could.

They were both sleep deprived and angry. Jesse felt as if he was suffocating in the near constant presence of another person after so many years of being on his own. He went outside the base to smoke, sometimes finding Genji or Zenyatta there. He socialized with others just to get the scent of incense smoke and his bitterness at the situation off of his mind.

He hated it. He hated that Hanzo had accepted Genji’s offer to join Overwatch. He hated that he had to watch the elder Shimada, that he had to share a space. He hated that he was constantly on edge thinking that the archer was going to eventually drop the repentant act and try to kill someone or betray Overwatch.

Was this how Agent Lex had felt? Simultaneously watching and being watched. Ready for a knife in the back while you got buddy buddy with someone who had near fatally hurt your comrade.

The air was tense in a way that wouldn’t be resolved with a fight or a few kind words. They were both struggling against their own bodies and that made their tension between the two worse.

Insomnia would take casualties, as it always had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhat opinionated facts that may not be fully correct
> 
> Since both McCree and I come from the United States I will call it Military Time (Its not just used for the military, however. Also, it's used more outside of the United States)
> 
> It is based on a 24 hour clock. There is no am or pm, you don't need them. (ante-meridiem and post-meridiem can suck it) 
> 
> Analog clocks stink at displaying 24 hour time.
> 
> Military time and 24 hour clocks have several key differences- colons aka the two dots in a trench coat aka ":" and leading zeros (I'll explain leading zeros in a bit)
> 
> Military time doesn't use a colon, while 24 hour time does. Military time uses a leading zero while 24 hour clocks sometimes don't (I honestly can't remember if there are more differences than just those)
> 
> How to read military time- if it's past 1200 (1200 is noon) you subtract 1200 to read it as the 12 hour clock. For example: 2200 minus 1200 equals 1000. From there, you can imagine a colon in the middle if you need and add a pm to it since it's past noon. So 2200 = 10:00 pm. Boom bam you just converted military time
> 
> I said it in an earlier chapter but you read 1200 as "twelve hundred hours", so you would read 2200 as "twenty two hundred hours". you DO NOT read it as "two thousand two hundred hours" cause thats just plain old wrong and weird. This goes to other times too.
> 
> If there is a small amount of time, lets say 20 minutes past the hour, you drop the hundred part entirely. That's mostly to avoid confusion. So 2220 hours could be read as "twenty-two twenty hours" but time is said more formally when you are are not face-to-face (more on this later)
> 
> The clock resets at midnight, the same as it does in the 12 hour clock. The funny thing is midnight can either be 2400 or 0000, unlike the 12 hour clock which typically has midnight as 12am and only 12am. (how freaky would it be to see a 12 hour clock suddenly display 00:00am?)
> 
> So 12:24am is either said as 2424 or it's 0024. However, I am fairly sure that military clocks display this time only as 0024 and not as 2424.
> 
> Midnight is usually only called 2400 when something is ending. When something begins it's called 0000.
> 
> 2400 hours is said exactly how you would expect to say it. 
> 
> 0000 is mostly read as "Zero hundred hours" (weird, I know)
> 
> However, 0000 CAN be read really funny ways if you are so inclined to read it that way. It just so happens that I am so inclined to tell you said funny ways.
> 
> I just wanted to share that in theory you can say it as "zero-zero-zero-zero hours" and pretend to be a robot for a hot second or you can read it as "oh-oh-oh-oh hours" and pretend like you are having a fun time at a sports game. 
> 
> I really do not recommend doing this in front of someone who knows military time or is in the military, as they might not appreciate the joke of you moaning/shouting the time at them. However, I cannot account for individual senses of humor. Use that joke at your own discretion.
> 
> In the morning hours before 1000 there is a 0 in front of the time. It is called a leading zero. It stays there and you read it. you do not ignore that 0, it stays. The leading 0 says "It's morning you fuckle-head, specifically it's before 1000", and it then drinks its coffee and spews more vitriol at you because it's before 1000
> 
> Anyways, you can read any 0 in the time in one of 3 ways. Saying "zero" is the most proper way.
> 
> Using 0620, a time mentioned in this chapter, as an example: it can be read as "oh-six-twenty hours" or "oh-six-two-oh hours" or "zero-six-twenty hours"
> 
> The most proper way to say it is "zero-six-two-zero hours" It's protocol to say each digit indiviually.
> 
> I do not recommend reading it as "oh-six-two-zero hours" or "zero-six-two-oh hours" because that is just strange to me. Stick to reading the 0 one way ya freaky thing. "oh" is colloquial and "zero" is proper, you do not mix the two in my opinion. it's a little like saying "Mr. Dude".
> 
> Its either an "oh", a "zero" or not there at all (example- saying twenty).
> 
> Personally I read 0620 as "oh-six-twenty" I drop the "hours" at the end and I use the colloquial "oh". This is a very relaxed and non-official way to do it. I read the "oh" to signify that it is in the morning, and I do not think of am or pm at all as I am doing so, yet most anyone could tell what the heck I'm saying.
> 
> I read it this way because I am a civilian, always have been one and always will be. I do not have to say it the way that any military protocol demands.
> 
> Also, if you wanted to get real technical they are in Bravo Time Zone, since they are in Gibraltar. The time of 6:20 am would be notated as 0620B and said formally as "zero-six-two-zero Bravo"
> 
> Anyways, enjoy some learning with your fanfiction. *:･ﾟ✧
> 
> (PS. Don't get me started on 6 hour time)


	12. Break.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snap.  
> A breakdown.  
> A break. 
> 
> All deserved.
> 
> McCree's POV.

Agents went on missions and came back. The Watchpoint always had someone there, but it was a small crew.

Dr. Zhou had gone on an expedition somewhere with grant money from some climatologist organization. Fareeha went back to Helix to finish up her business with them. Angela went to an active war zone to treat the wounded there as an Overwatch sanctioned mission.

Overwatch was still young currently. Its agents had business to attend to both for the organization and not.

Jesse kept on being himself, but he was kinder to Hanzo after the realization that Hanzo probably wasn’t gonna do anything.

He offered Hanzo food, knowing full well that Pavlov probably hadn’t intended for conditioning to be used on someone like Hanzo. He certainly knew what Jesse was trying to do, but he said nothing, so Jesse kept doing it. Through the process, Jesse discovered that Hanzo loved fruity flavors and disliked chocolate, the exact opposite of Genji.

Jesse kept offering to watch movies with Hanzo- Hanzo kept rejecting the offers.

Hanzo trained with him still, and the simulations were going decently. They still argued over simulator scores occasionally. Hanzo kept on shooting Jesse’s hat off every day except Fridays. Hanzo had made it into a habit, even asking Athena to count each time he knocked the hat off.

Jesse hadn’t been killed by the archer yet, as Hanzo always gave him some sort of warning and plenty of time to stay still before shooting. Jesse assumed that Hanzo was just having fun. He only ever knocked Jesse’s hat off, not hurt him or the hat. It didn’t bother Jesse too much.

Still, he Hanzo and Jesse had words occasionally. Two hot-headed people forced to be around each other was a recipe for tension and arguments. It was bound to happen, really, no matter how nice Jesse tried to play at being.

The worst of it was when Jesse had been working all day for Winston, moving boxes of heavy equipment in the humid Gibraltar heat. Athena’s drones fluttered about above him, directing him on where to put things occasionally and making sure that no Media drones got too close.

Hanzo came by, looking cool and content. He offered Jesse a water bottle and Jesse took it with a “much obliged” and a hat tip.

He wiped his face with his abandoned flannel and then drank the water. He was happy that someone had thought to get him something to drink since he was working so hard. He drained the water and placed the bottle on the ground.

Shit went downhill when Hanzo chuckled and commented that Jesse looked like he was really enjoying himself out here.

Jesse was hot, he was tired, he was covered in dust and grease and dirt from the stuff he was moving. There was sweaty hair in his eyes and he was only wearing his hat, boots, and his jeans because it was so damn fucking humid he felt like he was a steamed vegetable.

He didn’t want to deal with Hanzo being an asshole on top of everything else.

“Don’t sass me,” he commanded as he pointed at Hanzo’s chest.

Hanzo smiled and then pretended to be shocked, “Me? Sassy? Never.”

Jesse ignored him and continued to work. Hanzo stuck around for a minute or so and Jesse had a small hope that Hanzo might offer to help-

Until Hanzo tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, leaned towards Jesse, and practically purred the words, “Physical labor suits you.”

That was the last straw. It sounded so condescending and so terribly pompous to Jesse that he insulted Hanzo right back.

He explained in a harsh tone that not everyone came from a rich family and could afford to not get their pretty little hands dirty with manual labor. Hanzo began to defend himself but then Jesse called Hanzo a spoiled prince and gruffed, “get off your high horse cause it’s making the stick up your ass show.”

Jesse continued to work on moving equipment as they were exchanging harsh words. It was just to keep his hands busy so he didn’t deck Genji’s brother. Hanzo had somewhat of an upper hand in the verbal spat. Jesse was too tired to effectively trade blows with words, his silver tongue had turned into a sad leaden thing.

After a moment where both were quiet, Jesse looked to Hanzo.

“You done?” Jesse half asked, half goaded as he picked up a heavy piece of equipment and started walking away.

Hanzo followed and continued a tirade of insults while Jesse just grunted and mostly let them roll off his back.

They weren’t even all that harsh of insults, Jesse had heard worse. Hanzo said that he was a mangy, uncultured, uneducated American. He said that Jesse smelled like a what would happen if a chimney could produce noxious body odor. Jesse would have been thoroughly amused by that last one if it hadn’t been for the fact that Hanzo Shimada was trying his damndest to insult little old Jesse. That fact was more insulting than anything else.

Jesse paused midway through moving another piece of equipment and just looked at Hanzo. Hanzo opened his mouth again-

That.

That was the moment.

That was the moment when Jesse snapped at Hanzo, told him to get out of his sight.

That was the moment when things went from worse to absolute bullshit.

Hanzo seemed to sober then and all the color in his face left suddenly. It was like a switch was flipped. Everything was replaced by a flat, nearly unreadable expression. If Jesse wasn’t so good at reading people he might not have seen the look in Hanzo’s eye that could only be described as fear.

Jesse did see it though.

In fact, Jesse’s deadeye twitched and his trigger finger ached at the sight of it. He wanted to- no it was the deadeye that wanted to make the verbal fight into a fatal one. It asked him to grab Peacekeeper from where it lay in its holster on the ground. It begged him to press it into Hanzo’s big mouth and-

He pushed down the thought, recognizing it for what it was. It was just his deadeye acting up.

Jesse quickly closed his right eye upon that realization.

He breathed, trying to reel his murderous curse back in, trying to ignore the pounding pulse in his ears. The ache in his hands that made him want to squeeze the breath out of Hanzo’s throat was all Deadeye’s doing. Some distant part of Jesse realized that he would regret it if he lost control entirely.

At that moment, Hanzo was frozen, still standing there. He was looking at Jesse then as if he had threatened his life. When Jesse had actually threatened his life over two and a half months before, Hanzo had simply looked bored. When Jesse had told Hanzo to get out of his sight that day, Hanzo looked stricken with anxiety in a way that Jesse had only seen brief flashes of before.

It made Jesse want to apologize right then. He didn’t because a callous armor had taken over his actions while he tried to ignore Deadeye’s siren song.

He simply plopped what he had been lifting down into its proper spot, looked at Hanzo with only his left eye open, and commanded, “Go on and git.”

Jesse clenched and unclenched his right hand as Hanzo fled-

_I’m so sorry, Jessito. It’s a part of you now._

Hanzo didn’t actually flee. He walked away. His head was high but his tail was between his legs. He didn’t look back despite Jesse’s eyes on him.

Hanzo avoided Jesse for the rest of that day. He even went so far as to hastily remove himself from the Mess Hall when Jesse’s spurs jingled coming down the hallway to it.

That night Hanzo entered his side of the room nearly an hour after Jesse had gone to sleep. It was uncommon for Hanzo to go to bed after him. It woke Jesse up and he was annoyed until he realized that Hanzo was still listening to his earlier command of “get out of my sight”.

Jesse wanted to sleep. He felt the bone deep ache of it, as he did many times after Deadeye acted up. It was a common occurrence in the past but he thought he had gotten it under better control as he got older.

He was the only one with the deadeye curse who had lasted this long. All of the people who had it died fairly young. His mama had died at age 35 from her overdose, his uncles had died at 32 and 33. He was currently one whole year older than his grandpa had been-

He was the last one. He would take Deadeye to his grave. He would kill the killing curse.

_The secret room in his abuela’s house was covered from wall to wall in the eye charms. Some of the little eye charms hung from strings and clinked together like itty-bitty glass wind chimes when the small fan was turned on or when they were accidentally touched._

_The eye was on posters and such that Mama and her brothers had made. There was one vase with the eye on it that Abuela had made, and it held some wildflowers that Tío Justino had picked the day before._

_On the wall opposite of the small couch was The Big Eye, which was the first. Abuelo Mateo, the first one who was cursed, had painted it there one night all those years ago after almost a decade of intense research and struggle. He had been all alone then, holding onto the hope that the curse would kill him before he killed someone. That was before Abuela had met him and stubbornly insisted that she would help him control it better. It was before he knew the curse had passed onto his kids._

_From its spot painted on the wall The Big Eye looked into Jesse’s soul. He could not hide from it._

_The room was as it always had been. Jesse was what had changed._

_Now, Jesse understood why his uncles and his mama felt so at ease in his abuela's house. He understood why they sighed like a weight had been lifted off of their shoulders when they looked at the homemade charms that were everywhere in that small room._

_Jesse thought it felt a little like being around the altar for Santa Muerte or any of the other altars that were spread around Abuela’s home. It gave Jesse a vague sense of something more than himself, something heavy yet comforting. It also felt a lot like coming home to himself. Felt like being watched and looked over._

_Jesse was feeling better. He rested his heavy head onto his abuela’s bony shoulder and petted Hera until he heard the Calico purr._

_During that first day, his uncles had held his thrashing body down and pressed one of those instant cold packs to his right eye. He hadn’t even remembered when his uncles had gotten to their house. He had just remembered looking at his mama as she was making breakfast that morning and calmly telling her that it was starting._

_Jesse had screamed and howled like dying cat under the rising morning sun while they rode in the back of Mama’s pickup truck. They raced down the bumpy dirt road to Abuela Josefina’s house._

_Jesse wailed incoherently and commanded them to kill him as he clawed at their arms. He begged them to make the pain stop. His voice was already hoarse from screaming so loudly for so long. The men connected to the strong hands said something about him needing to calm down, something about not needing to fight them._

_In response, Jesse screamed that he would kill them, and he had meant it. His voice broke at the end of the threat and was taken over by hiccuping sob. He was going to kill them._

_Red flushed in both of the men’s right eyes and angry looks crossed their faces._

_Tío Justino growled, “shut the fuck up, Jesse. Shut your goddamn mouth, kid.”_

_Tío Jericho hurriedly removed his favorite bandana from around his own neck, rolled it up, and shoved it into Jesse’s mouth._

_Jericho never let any of the kids touch his bandana. Even Jericho’s own kids, Jesse’s adopted cousins, weren’t allowed to touch his most prized possession. Jesse was too far gone with pain then to realize it. He just clamped his mouth around it as tears continued to run down his bloodied face._

_The air smelled like copper. He was bleeding. He was bleeding and someone would pay with their own blood. The thought scared Jesse but just as equally a part of him screamed that it was right. Blood equals blood, it demanded._

_The ice pack was cool, but his eye still felt like it was on fire. His head felt like it was being split open with a railroad spike through the right temple._

_The red slowly faded from his uncles’ right eyes._

_When they got to the house they pulled Jesse inside, each uncle hauled him up by one of his arms. He was kicking. He hit Tío Justino’s shin and heard the usually mild mannered man swear for the third time that morning. Jesse didn’t care that he was a donkey. He was hurting so much. Oh, was he hurting, and they were the ones hurting him._

_Abuela was already waiting for them._

_They tied him to a kitchen chair in the room with the eyes and then left him with his abuela. She forced him to drink a terrible liquid that felt and looked like tar but tasted like spice._

_Why were they doing this to him? He was going to kill them all. Abuela’s hands were soft and cool, her voice was too. She cooed something about him not being able to control it, said it wasn’t his fault. Tío Jericho said that no one got seriously hurt._

_Jesse was hurting. He was hurting so badly. Why didn’t they care? He laughed hysterically around a blood red bandanna in a room filled with eyes._

_He was kept tied to the chair for two hours as he shrieked and tugged against the ropes wildly. They kept at least one person in the room with him at all times. He had stopped bleeding according to Justino, but everything was still smarting something fierce. They continued to press cold packs onto his eye._

_His mama read from one of his favorite stories as he struggled against the ropes. The story’s words fell on deaf ears. The gag fell out and he screeched “I hate you” over and over again._

_Jericho stopped pressing the cold pack to Jesse’s face and left the room._

_His abuela entered the room with a dusty brown serape. She calmly wrapped it around his struggling form as he insulted his mother. He said he wished to have never been born. He threatened her and cursed at her._

_His abuela said nothing as she picked Jericho’s red bandana off of the floor. She walked out to the hallway and grabbed something. He continued berating his mother until his abuela shoved a quilt square into his mouth._

_He threw his small amount of weight around on the chair, but Abuela simply pressed a hand down to stop the movement. He was a wild beast in a boy’s body. A small part of him wondered why he was struggling but it was as if he was no longer in control of his own actions. She tied another quilt square firmly around his mouth to secure the first in place as he threw his head around erratically._

_Abuela talked in hushed tones as Jesse screamed every curse word he knew into the makeshift gag. She was crying but she looked so determined. His mama was crying too, one eye beet red._

_Nearly six hours later, they tried to make him eat. He threw it up soon after because of a sudden spike of pain. He was able to keep a little water down eventually as the pain started to wane, so they kept him from getting dehydrated. His appetite was nonexistent._

_They had made him drink the tar-like mixture every few hours, and once his mind was clearer, Jesse realized it was supposed to help. They were all just trying to help and all he had been able to think about was rage and pain._

_They hadn’t prepared for it well enough- it had come early- it was supposed to happen in a year or two- why had it happened so soon?_

_Jesse looked up from the charm that he was supposed to carry from now on. It was an eyepatch. His mama and uncles had their own ones. He was supposed to put it on with the eye sewn on the inside facing his own right eye. Jesse practically needed to wear the eyepatch anytime he left the room. He didn’t he feel like his body was his own without it. He was exhausting himself by fighting the urges any time he went without._

_“Deadeye.”_

_That’s what Tío Justino had called it._

_He said it called for its own sick sense of justice. He said it was a curse and a gift and it made your aim unnaturally good and your reflexes fast. He said it was an angry, vindictive thing. He said it messed with your perception of time._

_He said to never pray to the deadeye. He said you were asking for trouble if you did. He said that the eye charms were a tool and that no matter how hard you prayed they wouldn’t take the deadeye away. He said to never let Deadeye take over completely._

_He said that Abuelo Mateo had gone wandering in the desert one day, and he met something there. He warned- he begged Jesse to stay out of any deserts. He said it was better for Jesse to stay safely ensconced in civilization. Who knows what’s out there? It could be something even worse than what Abuelo Mateo met- he said._

_The trio of siblings had been telling him tips on how to deal with the deadeye for the past week. Eventually he wouldn’t be needing the eye patch to help him, but they said it usually took a month to not need the charms so frequently. His mama insisted that he would feel normal after a while, that it would flare up occasionally but he could control it._

_They said he was lucky it had happened on the third day of summer break instead of during the school year. Tío Jericho said he was a little jealous that Jesse’s came at such a convenient time, his own had come during the middle of the year. Jesse could tell that the adults were really worried about what it meant that his eye had come in sooner than they had expected._

_“It never does call for any sort o’ justice, does it?” Jesse asked his abuela but it wasn’t really a question._

_Her green eyes were watery and her voice was shaky when she spoke. She met his gaze. He knew his own right eye was gruesome, the entire white of it was blood. He had seen it for the first time in the mirror that morning and thought he was going to die at age nine._

_“No, mijo, it just calls for death.”_

Jesse fell into a deep, dreamless sleep like he always did.

Hanzo broke routine the next morning and Jesse nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Hanzo’s soft footfalls doing something different. Hanzo had set his breakfast and tea on his bedside table and then walked to the curtain.

Immediately after Jesse turned his lights on to signal that he was decent, Hanzo knocked on the wall between his and Jesse’s sides. Hanzo only opened the curtain when Jesse said it was okay to.

He didn’t look at Jesse. He didn’t ask about Jesse’s eye.

He placed a mug of coffee on a empty space on Jesse’s shelf, then he disappeared back into his own room, closing the curtain behind him without a word. The coffee was in Jesse’s mug, the one with the horseshoe and fake bullet holes on it. The coffee itself was black and very hot, exactly how Jesse took his coffee. You couldn’t really screw it up.

It was a thoughtful gesture.

Jesse took a deep inhale of the steam, then took a sip. He then asked Hanzo about the line in the Princess bride about the tasteless and odorless poison, but he purposefully kept his tone light. Jesse had watched the movie once or twice with Genji but he forgot what the line exactly was.

Hanzo chuckled humorlessly and recited it.

They went about their day. Neither mentioned their spat the day prior or the fact that Hanzo had broken the morning routine to give Jesse coffee.

That night though, Jesse brought Hanzo a cup of chamomile tea and a bowl of strawberries from the kitchen. Hanzo absolutely loved strawberries. Jesse had discovered that fact from Genji- who saw that Hanzo and Jesse were on tenser terms than usual and somehow knew that it was Jesse’s fault. It was possible that Hanzo had talked to his brother about the situation.

Jesse knocked and only entered when Hanzo said it was okay to. Hanzo’s light was still on. He deactivated his comm’s holoscreen when Jesse entered. He looked better now, more assured. He even met Jesse’s gaze like the proud man he was.

Jesse presented the snack and drink to Hanzo with a small flourish.

Hanzo invited him- no, he had _asked_ Jesse, even said the word _please_ and everything- to sit on his bed and share the strawberries. He did, obliging Hanzo’s request. The archer made so few requests.

There was a silence as they ate strawberries and didn’t look at eachother.

Jesse swallowed his bite and then apologized like his mama had taught him to, without making eye contact though. He didn’t know if the archer would appreciate eye contact.

He said he knew better than to raise his voice and that he regretted shouting at Hanzo after he had done it. Jesse’s deadeye acting up wasn’t all him, however, he should have controlled it better. He told Hanzo that.

Genji’s undetailed stories about what life was like for Hanzo growing up made Jesse assume that he had made Hanzo panic by reminding him of a certain unsavory aspect of his childhood. Jesse and Hanzo were practically two fucked up peas in a fucked up pod now.

Hanzo stayed quiet as Jesse explained how he really hadn’t meant to frighten him. He said that he let his temper get the best of him and he shouldn’t’ve been so intolerant.

Jesse had to make sure what had spooked Hanzo though, so he asked if it was the words he had said or if it was the tone he used that was bad.

Hanzo took a sip of the chamomile tea and then replied hoarsely “It was the words.”

Jesse apologized again, and said he would try not to say the phrase again. “I cross my lil cowboy heart I’ll try.”

Things were less tense between them. Still weird, uncertain of how to move forward, but less tense.

Hanzo made it part of the routine to bring Jesse coffee in the morning when he went and got breakfast. Every morning, minus that first one, Jesse thanked him.

They then went to the kitchen together each morning in order to clean up their dishes. This was set at five minutes till seven. The time that Jesse had previously used to scan Hanzo's room.

On the second trip to the kitchen, Jesse found out that Hanzo knew he had been scanning the room. He had purposefully prolonged the time in order to let Jesse do it.

Hanzo said that he trusted Jesse to make the right decision and make good on his threat about shooting Hanzo six times if he caused trouble. Hanzo even welcomed Jesse to take more frequent and longer times to scan Hanzo’s room.

Jesse’s brain nearly malfunctioned with how many questions that were floating around in his head.

Was Hanzo making a power move? Was he accusing Jesse of not trusting him? What the fuck was Hanzo playing at here? What was his _angle_?

Goddamn.

What drawled out of Jesse’s mouth, as slow as the world outside of Jesse’s thoughts, was: “That won’t be necessary, pardner.”

A few nights later Jesse was the one who asked if they could open the curtains during the time in the morning when they were both in their rooms doing their own separate things. That closed off time when they weren’t talking but they were both decent since their lights were on.

Hanzo said they could.

Genji was gone and the Watchpoint had a skeleton crew of just Winston, Lena, Hanzo, Athena and Jesse.

Athena was up at all hours since she needed no rest but the scientist and pilot were both sleeping, they were on the opposite shift of the roommates. Lena and Winston had the shift from dusk till dawn, and that was the time when the roommates attempted sleep for a few hours.

On a quiet Friday afternoon, Jesse offered Hanzo both a drink and a movie. Hanzo had surprisingly said an affirmative.

Hanzo chose a movie after Jesse insisted that he chose. It was one that Hanzo had seen many times before, one of his favorites, apparently. It was a decent movie so far, it had an interesting plot, opening with a tragedy that affected the main character severely. It had attractive yet deep characters.

It was a revivalism-Noir, according to Hanzo. It was almost entirely in Japanese and some Korean. Jesse was glad for the English subtitles that Hanzo had put on without him even asking.

Hanzo seemed to be enjoying himself, even smiled warmly at certain parts.

Jesse drank occasionally, watching the movie projected onto the only empty wall in either of their spaces. It was in Hanzo’s room. They sat in chairs that they had dragged out of a storage closet. They sat a few feet apart, not really saying much. Jesse asked a few questions and Hanzo didn’t seem to mind answering them.

A trend in the movie that Jesse immediately noticed was that any time there was a specific color of blue light on the screen, something weird or bad happened.

“I hate them,” Hanzo said before he took his first swallow of sake when a certain plucky engineer came on screen and said the words “where are my tools?”

Their nickname was Phoenix. They were the protagonist’s non-binary cousin. Friend? Jesse thought they might be kin, but he wasn’t so sure.

Hanzo took another sip when they repeated that same phrase again.

He then arched an eyebrow and looked at Jesse. So Jesse began to also only drink when the word “tool” was said. It was the first unmentioned yet agreed upon drinking game that Jesse had been a part of. He had drunk a bit more than Hanzo, but Jesse could hold his liquor like a champ.

Hanzo leaned back in his chair, balancing steadily on the edge of it. Hanzo wasn’t even tipsy most likely, he was just immensely pleased.

There was a scene where the camera literally followed the protagonist, Sai, through the streets of their nameless city. Hanzo noted that it was a camera technique that he enjoyed and then he plopped his chair down, almost seeming excited. Jesse nearly asked him what was wrong and then Hanzo pointed back to the screen.

The camera was slowly getting further away from the protagonist. Sai wasn’t moving, he was looking across the street. It was the camera that was backing up, getting further away from him. Jesse felt confused as to why they had been following him, convinced by different types of camera work to sympathize with him up until that moment. He was confused as to why they were being dragged away almost forcefully from the feeling of connection to the character

It drifted up into a view of the whole street. The neon lights reflecting off of the rain slick pavement was gorgeous. Hanzo commented on how that was a trope of Noir. Rain slicked streets looked stunning in the low light.

The blue light was nowhere to be seen but the tense atmosphere that the music score had created had Jesse wondering what exactly was going wrong.

Suddenly, a stranger on the other side of the street stepped out of an archway and opened an umbrella.

The camera was centered Sai’s disbelieving face. It finally went to the face of the stranger as an attractive person around Sai’s age, face obscured a little by smoke.

A small flashback, a montage of memories of Sai and this stranger, they used to be business partners of some sort. It ended with them parting ways on less than decent terms.

“You.” Sai gripped a railing near him.

Hanzo whispered that they were bastards since they put it in a tone that was purposefully hard to tell the meaning from. You could only really infer from Sai’s body language what he had meant. It was never clear if they were lovers-

“Ultimately, it was better to keep the past where it belonged,” Sai narrated and Jesse said amen to that.

Time passed by in the movie, mysteries were unraveled but more were revealed.

That stranger, Vince, turned out to be what Hanzo called a “Femme Fatale” though he was a man. Hanzo explained it was an old term. Jesse then offered the phrase "Hombre Fatales” and Hanzo chuckled and said that there was a word for it and it was like that.

Vince was shrouded in mystery, his morals seemed ambiguous. Death followed in his wake and there was a scene in which him and Sai had angry sexual tension until they were interrupted by Phoenix. Vince left Sai’s office. It was still not clear if they were lovers before.

More and more mysteries added up and it seemed like there was no real answer. The movie’s ending was coming along soon, Jesse could tell.

Jesse was a mite bit drunk, they had said the word “tool” a few more times than Jesse had expected and he had drank a decent amount for each. He was just this side of tipsy.

Sai walked across the floor of the empty bar. A fight had obviously occurred there, he stepped over bodies, the only sound the rhythmic taps of his shoes against the floor.

The lights of the scene shifted to be increasingly more blue. The light, the eerie blue light, pulsed along the screen in flashes like a heartbeat, danced across the room in heavy bars that framed Sai’s movements. The music slowly came on again, and Jesse missed the eerie silence.

Hanzo turned to him as the music picked up pace. Smiled. “Prepare to chug.”

Jesse was confused but he did so nonetheless.

Sai asked a question, in the contemplative voice that he had asked many other questions to himself and the audience throughout the film.

“What was it that had really mattered, all along, after I had already turned my back on the world?”

Hanzo started chugging when Jesse heard Phoenix amusedly saying to Sai that he had only ever been a tool to them. A means to an end.

They argued and said the word tool three more times. Jesse kept chugging.

Sai got shot, Phoenix leaned over him, blocking the overhead light.

The betrayal was only somewhat unexpected, the audience had been given hints that someone on the inside had been sabotaging Sai. Jesse had silently hoped it was Vince. Phoenix had seemed generally like a flawed but decent at heart character.

Phoenix leaned over over Sai, and finally the camera got close enough to them to see their eyes. They were that same blue that had been throughout the film.

“Tools are not mourned when they lose their purpose.”

The camera slowly panned back, pulling Jesse away from the scene and making it both infinite and miniscule. Sai bled out on the ground as the camera retreated, one last betrayal.

Jesse realized it would have been a very cheesy yet somewhat sad ending scene if he wasn’t racing Hanzo to see which one of them could get the most amount of alcohol into their system in the shortest time.

The movie ended but Jesse was laughing when Hanzo spilled a bit of little sake on himself after a final overeager chug. Sad music played yet the situation was hilarious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, rubbing my fuzzy gremlin hands together: "How many sorta romantic situations can I put them in while still maintaining the tension of them not hating eachother but not quite being friends or really trusting each other?"
> 
> Me, looking fondly over this chapter: "I made them eat strawberries together on a bed and also watch a movie together."
> 
> Me, gesturing vaguely at the fact that they had a decent time at the end: "Alcohol was involved."


	13. Dealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one cope with the various strange occurances that happen during life?
> 
> From an archer on a path to redemption, to a pilot who skips through time.
> 
> Dealing is necessary.

Overwatch began to get tight on money. Hanzo noticed it right away.

It was in the small things. Winston didn’t try to organize group meals anymore. Agent Tracer encouraged people to eat leftovers occasionally. The fridge was a little more empty.

It was in the small things.

There was also the fact that the base needed a few repairs-

A day or two later, Hanzo opened a group chat on his comm and asked for a private meeting between Genji, McCree, Tracer, Winston, himself, and Athena. All of them were on base at the time.

Winston objected at first, stating that if Hanzo had something to say he could say it in the group chat. Hanzo explained that he really couldn’t, as he needed to relay some information that he didn’t feel comfortable writing down. After ten minutes, Winston gave a time and a place.

The first conference room in the Oscar corridor at 3 pm the following day. The meeting started when Hanzo said “I want to offer funding to Overwatch.”

No one outright protested- Genji made a contemplative noise.

“I offer it only in order to keep the operation running and I swear that there are no strings attached to the offer. I do not want my status as a probationary agent to change-” Hanzo explained, shifting his weight slightly. “I do not want anyone to treat me any differently. In fact, I ask that the knowledge that I have made an offer to fund Overwatch not leave the room.”

Genji made another noise, but it was more controlled and slightly amused. His faceplate was on but his body language was relaxed, leaning back in his chair slightly and gesturing to the cowboy. “I’m curious. Why invite Jesse to the meeting?”

“I requested both Mr. McCree and you to be in the meeting because I can not lie to either of you in good conscious.”

McCree took his hat off and placed it on the table.

“What happens if you leave Overwatch? What ‘bout the funding then?” McCree crossed his arms over his chest.

“I will give Overwatch funding for as long as it is operational and is not going against Genji or me directly.” Hanzo meant it. He hated making promises, especially promises like this one, but he meant it.

They discussed it for a while longer. Once Winston had agreed, Hanzo breathed out a sigh.

Winston thanked Hanzo but said that it was hopefully only going to be a temporary plan. He said he hoped that the UN would remove the Petras act soon and that they could get funding from some other source.

Hanzo suggested that room and board would continue to not cost agents any money.

Winston ran some numbers, grumbling figures to himself while Athena projected the costs of certain materials.

They figured out that with Hanzo’s money they could run Overwatch and pay all current agents a decent wage, plus yearly bonuses, while also maintaining weapons and providing food for them. It would take a little over 30 years to completely drain Hanzo’s funds but that was only if Overwatch didn’t receive any more agents.

Athena then explained that junk food was not included in the food budget, however, that rule apparently didn’t apply to peanut butter, which was not classed as junk food. Hanzo agreed to the proposed budget plans with a hesitant smile while Tracer teased Winston for his peanut butter obsession.

“We’ll have a meeting with the other agents discussing our plans. Where do we tell them the money came from, though?” Winston grumbled as he wrote a note for himself.

Hanzo scowled. He hadn’t expected to need to talk with the other agents, but he supposed that this was not the clan, he was not on his own, and this was not the old Overwatch.

McCree flicked his lighter open and closed. “Jest don’t mention it and if anyone brings it up ya could say it came from a reputable source that has a firm belief in the good that the recalled Overwatch will ‘complish.”

Hanzo would have argued that they could say it came from an anonymous donor, but then he realized how suspicious that sounded. Agents would become distrusting of the nature of the reformed Overwatch if they believed the money to be coming from a corrupted source. He was, in fact, considered a corrupt man.

Hanzo revealed then that almost all of his money was held in secret caches around the world. Hanzo provided approximate locations of six caches that had large sums of money in them.

The group planned to send Hanzo out on a “recon” mission to around where one of his largest caches was. Should anyone ask where he was going, they would imply that it had something to do with the Shimadas. It actually did have something to do with the Shimadas, so they wouldn’t technically be lying.

With him backing Overwatch, they would be able to spread their agents over longer distances for longer times in order to help more of the world.

Tracer offhandedly asked just how many caches and safehouses Hanzo had. He replied that he had more than twenty six.

He frowned when McCree joked that number that he had was larger than Hanzo’s own amount. Hanzo was never second best, but he didn’t want to show his hand by saying the exact amount that he had.

That day, the people in that meeting learned that there were upwards of 58 caches and safe houses around the world between Genji, Hanzo, and McCree. The cowboy didn’t give up an exact number, just like Hanzo. Genji claimed he himself had only five.

None of the other members apparently had any as far as anyone knew. In a way, Hanzo could understand. At the same time he was glad it wasn’t just him waiting for the eventual end of the world.

McCree suggested to make it look like there was scarcity when there truly was none- a misdirection. He said to make it so that the ebb and flow suggested that Hanzo couldn’t possibly be bringing in the money.

Winston changed his projected budget for the following two weeks to make it look like they had a lot of money already. He organized and planned more team meals, he started a small amount of repairs. He then looked Hanzo firmly in the eye, lowered his voice into a gravely mumbling and said “Overwatch will be relying on you to pull through.”

“It's a good deal,” McCree lit up a cigar.

Hanzo nodded. It was.

”Well,” McCree said, putting his hat back on and tilting it so it covered his eyes.

“It’s a good deal for everyone but Hanzo-san, who won’t get recognition for his aid to Overwatch even though he rightly should,” McCree amended. Hanzo scowled directly at him for saying it.

Genji piped in that Hanzo should eventually take credit for it. Hanzo relented that he would, perhaps, when other agents trusted his intentions more.

Tracer blinked across the room, she wrote something down and then smiled at Hanzo. “I’ve got just the fix.”

Hanzo had been made an official agent a little more than a week after he offered to fund Overwatch.

He was given a mental evaluation from Zenyatta and cleared for field duty. It was the most official thing that the unofficial organization could muster up.

The day of Hanzo’s “recon” mission was soon arriving. He was going to be in the worst part of the destroyed suburban area surrounding him. It had been a once thriving Minnesotan neighborhood until a wildfire had mostly destroyed it. The only standing structures for miles was a small collection of abandoned houses that were far away from everything else.

The retrieval was completed without any complications.

In addition to the money, Hanzo returned with more personal hygiene items, some arrow parts, some more clothes in a duffel bag, and a hologram photo display. He placed it onto one of his blue honeycomb shelves and stared at it for a while thinking that he might turn it on.

Was he allowed? Would it be wrong to have a picture of him and his brother proudly displayed on a shelf in his room? What would the world think?

Hanzo didn’t care what the world thought. He hadn’t for years now and going back to caring just seemed like so much effort. The thought still cropped up occasionally, unbidden.

He turned it on and nearly flinched. There, staring at him with glee filled eyes, was himself and his brother. He turned the display slightly so they wouldn’t stare at him while he was on his bed. He set it on a timer from the time he woke up until a little after dinner, twelve hours of it being displayed.

McCree walked up and leaned against the archway. “Nice jacket.”

Neither of them were wearing a jacket in the hologram- oh- Hanzo looked down at himself. It was a nice jacket, it had roses embroidered across the blue jean material.

“Thank you.”

Hanzo and the pilot started to get along better in the weeks following his return from the recon mission, but only for short bursts of time.

At her request, Hanzo ran around the small gym with her in the afternoon. She was fast, but surprisingly she didn’t blink around much. She valued stretching and kept a good pace with him.

He called her “Ms. Tracer” and she was polite enough to ask him if using his first name with “san” was okay- she even asked if calling him things like “love” was okay.

After the third time that he ran with “Lena”, she insisted that he called her by her first name. He tried to call her “Ms. Oxton”, she vetoed it. He tried to call her just “Oxton” she also vetoed that. She said last names, in her opinion, were for squares and soldiers- she was neither anymore.

She then apologized and said that he could actually call her whatever he wanted to. Tracer said she was “taking the piss”.

Tracer talked, she was proficient at it, in fact. She talked about everything and anything she could think of, and she had funny stories.

She talked about the old Overwatch, she talked about her home and her girlfriend Emily, who she video called frequently and loved very much. She talked about everything. From her favorites to her least favorites. It seemed there was not a single topic she wouldn't talk about.

When Hanzo hesitantly and curiously asked, she explained what it felt like to experience Chronal Disassociation.

“Ever get the feeling of déjà vu?” she asked, slowing down from a jog to a walk.

Hanzo nodded.

She scrunched her face, clearly thinking of how to describe it.

“It was like really intense déjà vu,” she explained. “It was- I was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I was at every single moment in my timeline- timelines- and also not. I experienced several instances of myself, viewing her in third and first person view.”

She wiped her face with the towel around her neck.

“I could see another me and I was also that another me, like, going through stuff I ‘ave been through and stuff I ‘aven’t been through yet.” She said, smiling a bittersweet smile, “I know my future, or at least a few versions of it, but it takes a lot for me to remember. It was a lot all at once.”

“My apologies if this is difficult to talk about.” Hanzo drank some water.

“Pssh, naw, you ain’t the first person to ask, love.” She waved her hand. “The only really bad thing to happen as a result of it, besides being stuck in time for a while, is that my con’inued existence proves some scientists’ theories wrong.”

She sipped at her water and then added, “Also some wankers deny that I can travel through my timeline.”

“That sounds frustrating.”

“It really is.”

Later in the week, she mumbled a question to him about what it was like for him growing up.

He told her it was mostly boring. He told her a few good stories, leaving out the parts that he didn’t have words for. Talking around memories he would rather forget.

He told her about the time that the Shimada Clan helped with disaster relief in Japan after a Tsunami. He told her how the first Omnic Crisis affected him and his family. He talked about how his family was not good but how they considered themselves a “charitable organization”.

He also talked about Rikimaru, and the arcades, the lighter things that still physically hurt him sometimes to remember.

After she asked if he was abused, the floodgates of their conversation opened a little more.

He talked about training and how that was the one time he ever managed to meet even a small portion of the expectations that others set for him. He talked about the feeling of the elders watching him, how he both and soaked up their gaze and cowered under their thumb.

She asked him how long ago it was when he started training. He replied that he didn’t know-but it was before he was five.

“That’s no way to grow up, love,” she pointed out.

He nodded, it truly wasn’t, but it was all he knew.

One morning, Hanzo interrupted McCree’s reading to ask if Tracer was always so excitable or if it was a new development. McCree laughed and said that she had always been talkative in the past.

Hanzo nodded and simply said, “I see.”

A week later, Hanzo quietly asked McCree what would be good to get for her as a gift to repay her for her kindness. McCree replied he was fairly certain that she liked anything in the colors hot pink or orange, he also said that she liked plushies.

As they had planned it, a few days later, a team dinner happened for everyone who was on base.

McCree and Hanzo sat together, not because they wanted to, but because they both wanted to sit by Genji.

Tracer blinked around the Mess Hall and kitchen. She asked the burning question of who left a crocodile plushie in front of her door. Hanzo said nothing about it as the excitable pilot zoomed around the room in a flash of light blue with a green crocodile in her hands.

McCree took a sip of his whiskey and half-shrugged when Lena asked him if he knew who did it.

When Tracer asked Hanzo if it was him, Hanzo stared at her and admitted that he had no knowledge of who could have done it. Then he asked her if he looked like the type of person who would even consider buying such a thing. He said it in the stoic way that he said many things.

She laughed, assumedly at the imagery, and sat down at a table with Dr. Winston. She carefully set her crocodile down, Hanzo later found out it was named Irwin the 4th.

Once she was sat down and engrossed in her conversation with the scientist, McCree leaned over the table, cupped his hand by his mouth, and conspiratorially whispered that Hanzo looked exactly like the kind of person who would buy a plushie.

He stole one of Hanzo’s napkins with his other hand as he said it.

That was because when he was leaning over to say it, he accidentally pushed his right elbow into his food.

Hanzo flicked his eyes back up and made eye contact with McCree, who was looking slightly embarrassed before a confident look crossed his face. McCree tactfully shoved his other elbow into his food as well, and steepled his hands, grinning as if he had done it on purpose the first time.

Hanzo snorted the water he was drinking out his nose. The other tables looked over at them. McCree roared with laughter and removed his dirty flannel.

Genji and Zenyatta joined them. Genji had been getting his food from the Crusader and his squire, who were tasked with making dinner that night.

Hanzo groaned in fake annoyance when Zenyatta asked how the food tasted. Genji removed his face mask and stole the cherry tomatoes from Hanzo’s side salad.

Funnily enough, his brother then complained that he was not eating nearly enough. Genji excitedly told McCree about how much of a voracious eater Hanzo had been in the past. Hanzo admitted that his age had caught up with his appetite and swallowed it.

Genji laughed and mused, “we are getting old. Aren’t we?”

Zenyatta calmly announced that he was technically only twenty years old. Genji jokingly complained about the fact that they hadn’t celebrated Zenyatta’s twentieth with a drinking party.

Zenyatta blinked the blue dots on his forehead in a seemingly random pattern at that statement and simply replied, “A life of moderation is best.”

Hanzo frowned, moderation was not something he willingly took part in. Not anymore. He raised his gourd and sent McCree a look before taking a drink. McCree matched with a sip of his whiskey.

Hanzo had not willingly concerned himself with public opinion since the day he fled Japan. He had been rude, honest, and callous and it felt wrong for it to feel good, every ingrained lesson telling him he shouldn’t. He gave his honest opinion about things no matter how controversial they may be.

Hanzo was very much like a foreigner of Japan now. Crooked and odd and impolite.

He sat, drinking sake in the presence of the brother he had killed, an omnic monk, and an actual cowboy. It felt like the start of a bad joke. He would have laughed hysterically if someone had told him a year ago that this would happen.

It felt good.

Neither Genji nor the omnic said anything about Hanzo drinking, Genji was busy wheedling Zenyatta into having a 21st party.

The days marched forwards endlessly towards… something.

Tracer would arrive at Hanzo’s room at around 10:30 at night to offer to make him a cup of chamomile tea. He would go with her to the kitchen. Once, he even brought McCree a cup back. Kindness breeds kindness and McCree deserved some as well. The gunslinger’s sleep was just as bad as Hanzo’s own.

Despite the fact that they had been getting along fairly well, Hanzo and Tracer had their first real argument.

“You should not pretend to tolerate me,” he insisted.

“I’m not pretending, you twit!” she said exasperatedly.

“I do not deserve kindness- not from you or anyone else,” he barked, roughly shutting the stove off and pouring their tea.

“Well, it’s a good thing, Hanzo-san, that you don’t ‘ave a say in the decision!” she shouted, ending the conversation before he could reply by walking away with her cup of tea.

The next afternoon they went on a run together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, sobbing as I look at all of the Mchanzo fluff I am saving for the end: "how the fuck do I get them there?"


	14. Repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's POV.
> 
> Life at the Watchpoint is beautiful and flawed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! There's an authors note at the end of this that I would like you to read.

It wasn’t as if Hanzo and Jesse’s spat outside had cleared the air between them entirely. Being nice to Hanzo was a choice that Jesse had to remind himself to make. Sometimes, as Hanzo had a tendency to do still, he got under Jesse’s skin.

So Jesse was a bit of an asshole occasionally in response. He made a few scathing comments now and then to Hanzo. Jesse wasn’t an ass all the time, but he wasn’t exactly warm or friendly all the time either.

In response to any insults, Hanzo usually laughed and agreed. It was hard to feel like an asshole when Hanzo agreed, but the laugh was too carefully constructed not to be fake.

“Don’t try and act like you are perfect, Hanzo-san,” Jesse said, half joking.

“If the enemy of good is perfect, I must be a villain,” Hanzo said haughtily while they were waiting for Genji to arrive with his food.

Jesse laughed. “Yer a pompous fucker ya know that? All high and mighty and  _ ‘cultured’ _ .” He air-quoted.

Hanzo sipped his green tea. “I am pompous, that much is true. However, unlike  _ some _ people, I  _ have _ culture.”

“A culture of bacteria, maybe.” Jesse gestured. “One of those that causes terrible infections.”

“Like the terrible infections you get from your general lack of hygiene?” Hanzo retorted.

“Nah, Archer, I think you’ve got it confused,” Jesse deflected, darkening the tone and sincerity of their back-and-forth. “I’m clean- it’s you who’s a no good dirty sonofabitch.”

Hanzo laughed, a bitter and distant sound. “I am trying to clean up my act.”

“Really? That’s news to me.” Jesse leaned back in his chair. “Either way, acting like a decent person ain’t suiting fer someone like you.”

Hanzo scowled. “I think you are projecting, Cowboy.”

Jesse looked at him, opened his mouth and then closed it again.

Angry silence followed, but Jesse didn’t really mind. He had meant his words, and he held no blows until Hanzo had said the last word. Jesse knew when to give up, when to hold his tongue. If he had said what he was going to, it most likely would have escalated farther. He didn’t genuinely want to tear into Hanzo, he just wanted to remind him of his place a little.

Hanzo was an asshole, standoffish and incredibly prideful even on a good day.That was the standard unless he had alcohol in his system or on rare occasions when everything aligned just right to make him drop his guard. It was more alcohol and less chance.

Jesse said they should drink together again, even going so far as to buy more sake.

Hanzo rejected the offer, like he had before their movie night. It looked like it physically hurt him to do so, however. 

Jesse just left the bottle in Hanzo’s room, sitting on his bedside table. 

He left the base a few days after Hanzo’s rejection of his offer of drinking together. It was not because of Hanzo, but because he had his own mission.

Jesse’s mission went okay. It was in an area where gang activity was getting worse. The gang was pressing harder on the locals, but the authorities in the area wouldn’t do anything about it. Overwatch had checked it out for a possible connection to Talon, but it seemed to just be a local gang who ran their mouths better than they ran their operations. 

During his watching of the gang, Jesse could see several fatal weaknesses. His deadeye stung at the errant thought of wiping the gang out entirely. It was something he could control.

_ Mijo, beware the eye, it knows you best- Behave, Jessito, behave-  _

He watched one of the hot shots of the Ivory Horns step out of their car.

_ Act like you’re normal, kid- Ya fucking shit head brat, I’ll show you angry- Hey, Mad Dog, go blow off some steam. Come back when you don’t look like you are about to bite someone-  _

He trailed their movement with his binoculars, watching as they walked up to the seedy club at 4 in the afternoon. Their jacket was nice, their long hair was done up neatly, and their eyeliner sharp.

_ You scare me when you get like this, you almost look deranged- Smile, Eastwood, it’s a better look on your ugly mug than looking pissed off-  _

Jesse watched as the bouncer let them in without checking their ID.

_ Control yourself, cariño- Stop being angry and think, it will improve your aim- _

Jesse put down his binoculars and turned up his headset. His informant was meeting with them soon, and the wire that they were wearing was pulsing with the heavy bump of bass. Jesse adjusted some sound settings, leaned back and waited.

He was calmer now, it took a lot of years, and training in Blackwatch, but he was calmer than when he was young. He was more in control. He still got mad, but it was less often, less violent, more cold anger and less heat to his words and actions. 

Jesse was in control and generally an easy going guy now and days. He was fairly content with how things were, it had been almost three years since his last flare up until his most recent one.

_ Why is your eye red? _

That was an easy question.

_ What is wrong with you? _

Lots of things, actually. He knew better than to let it get in the way of his mission. 

Thankfully, it ended as quickly as it could. He was heading back to Gibraltar soon enough after that.

Genji had decided that his own room wasn’t comfy anymore. He stole Jesse’s room for the two weeks that Jesse was on his mission. Jesse knew that Genji was simply doing it in order to be closer to his brother. 

Surprisingly, when Jesse got back there was no blood spilt between the two brothers. According to Genji, Hanzo had kept the routine up, minus certain parts.

Jesse’s bed smelled like Genji when he returned, so he immediately washed his sheets.

While Jesse was waiting for the washer to finish removing the smell of the cyborg from his bedding, Genji explained that the two brothers were getting along better. Grudgy was sat on top of the drier with a smile on his face. His cybernetic legs dangled in front of the machine lazily.

Jesse’s old nickname for the ninja, Grudgy, was no longer was befitting for the calm and happy man. 

Genji crossed his legs up onto the top of the drier when Jesse silently demanded access to it so he could dry his bedding. Genji then happily exclaimed that Hanzo had even agreed to talk to Zenyatta to work out some of his issues.

Jesse figured that if Hanzo had wanted to kill his brother he would have done it when Genji was asleep in Jesse’s room. Hanzo had two weeks. Two weeks of chances to finish what he failed to do over a decade before. 

He didn’t.

Jesse’s roommate was predictably unpredictable yet somewhat predictable as well. He had calls or met with Zenyatta at the same time of day.

When he came back from those meetings, would go into their room and he would fall asleep. Hanzo didn’t cry or show any emotions during the daytime, but Jesse would occasionally, once in a while, wake up to hear Hanzo sniff quietly. The archer would then leave the room.

There were altercations between Hanzo and the other Agents of Overwatch, and after those, Hanzo would act as he usually did- he just bore the weight of it and did not complain.

Jesse heard a few of those arguments, which usually consisted of the Agent saying their piece and Hanzo simply agreeing.

“You are a murderer,” Fareeha hissed.

“That is true,” Hanzo said, factual and unaffected.

“How could you do that to your brother, even if it was to save yourself?”

Hanzo sounded slightly surprised and angered. “I do not have to justify my actions.”

“Do you even know how much you destroyed him? The damage you caused?” she asked, “Not just physically but emotionally as well.”

“I most likely never will.”

“You disgust me.”

“I disgust myself as well.”

Or, for example, take the conversation with Angela, who seemed to not care who heard.

“I would let you rot if you went down in the field if it weren’t for my morals.”

“Ah, morals, getting in the way just as they always do,” Hanzo tutted. “Please, do me one favor- if you are ever in the position of saving my life, just lie and say I was too far gone.”

It was hard to insult Hanzo because he took whatever you said and ran with it. He depreciated himself so much that you might have felt pity for him if he let you, but then he would say something to start the cycle over again.

It was hard to insult him, but it was also equally as hard to like him. Tense silence seemed to follow him, choking conversations when he entered a room.

Reinhardt pointedly ignored Hanzo but kept a watchful eye on him. Brigitte also ignored him.

Winston, bless his little scientist heart, hoped that Hanzo would get along with the other members eventually.

Hanzo never apologized for his presence but he didn’t stick around in common areas longer than necessary. He shielded himself from idle chatter or small talk and only really stuck around if Genji was there.

Lena and him still occasionally went on runs in the afternoons, but Lena came to ask Jesse one day if something was wrong because Hanzo didn’t seem as talkative anymore. She said he was never talkative much in the first place, but he had essentially begun to ignore everything but yes or no questions.

Hanzo didn’t attempt to insult Jesse anymore, but he also didn’t talk with Jesse more than he absolutely needed to. His conversations were sparser.

He continued the routine, bringing coffee in the morning and Jesse had half a mind to tell Hanzo to knock it off. Jesse didn’t know if that would be rude or not, so he still thanked Hanzo when he brought him a cup. That much was unchanging, that much was stable.

Jesse still tried telling stories and jokes to break the archer out of his head. Then Hanzo started talking a little more to Jesse after a while. Small things. Jesse took that as permission to continue.

Something that Jesse noticed was that Hanzo wore his legs to bed some nights. Those nights sometimes lined up with the nights that Hanzo would leave the room.

One morning, about four months after becoming Hanzo’s roommate, Jesse realized with a start that he actually trusted the archer not to kill him in his sleep most nights. Not all of them, but it was progress.

Jesse made an effort to be even more friendly than just the movie night and two half-assed compliments. 

Really, Jesse had been doing the bare minimum.  He only offered Hanzo a conversation about beliefs early on, which was a good way to test Hanzo, and an apology for Deadeye acting up.

Jesse stopped insulting Hanzo, even if Hanzo made a mistake or insulted Jesse. Instead, Jesse quietly reminded Hanzo of certain things, like that is was impolite to point out that someone looked bad in the early morning, or that is was rude to ignore someone trying to get his attention.

Hanzo tried to goad Jesse into making a few insults, but Jesse didn’t take the bait. Hanzo was purposefully obvious in his antagonistic behavior. Hanzo even left opportunities open for Jesse to make fun of him, clearly expecting Jesse to say something. He even asked, “What is wrong, Outlaw? Have you lost your venom?”

Hanzo was Hanzo was Hanzo.

Until he was  _ Hanzo. _

Jesse found a package at his door. A zippo lighter with a cactus on it. Jesse knew. He knew who it was from and he was amused and a little confused. If the archer had wanted to thank him, why didn’t he just say it?

Jesse briefly considered not saying anything, seeing how far the archer would go with the joke. They were both too smart to play dumb.

“Hey, Hanzo-san,” Jesse called to him that evening when they were both in their rooms but not quite ready for bed.

“Yes?” Hanzo gruffed out.

“Thank ya for the gift, but ya really didn’t hafta do that,” Jesse said as he leaned against the archway.

“I have no clue as to what you are talking about.” Hanzo turned back to the puzzle game he was playing on his comm.

“Don’t pull that act with me, Hanzo-san,” Jesse accused without bite.

“Why would I give you anything?” Hanzo asked, setting down his comm.

“Honestly, I dunno,” Jesse admitted as he flicked open his new lighter. “Jest wanted to tell you that it was ‘preciated.”

“I did not do it. However,” Hanzo said as he got up, “I suppose you are welcome.”

Hanzo turned off the lights in his side of the room. Jesse closed the curtain and retreated back to his own side.

Jesse realized that night that he found Hanzo tolerable.

They existed in this strange area, one push either way could send them into being friends or into being enemies. Simultaneously both, simultaneously neither. They were roommates and that was as far as Jesse could put a label on it.

Overwatch’s recall had been known for a while, however the media drones were getting more insistent. That was due to the fact that Overwatch had gone on quite a few successful missions. The drones circled the Watchpoint and attempted to get inside of the building itself whenever the exterior doors opened. 

After asking Winston for permission, Jesse had nabbed one very insistent camera drone. He used his serape to cover it’s lens. He then placed it into a dark, empty closet in the Foxtrot corridor. He locked the door manually. He then barricaded the door. He heard it thump against the walls in there, undoubtedly being controlled by a very confused technician.

“Why did we nab a media drone?” Lena asked.

“Cause it’s fun to fuck with the media every once in a while, also, it might convince ‘em to stop tryin’ to get into the buildin’,” Jesse supplied, telling Athena via his comm to turn the light on and off randomly at a low speed in the storage closet.

They ended up putting a sign on the door that said “Closet of Shame, Home of the Media Drone, Do Not Disturb.”

Brigitte donated some star stickers that she had gotten during her travels to the making of the sign.

Life at the Watchpoint was strange and beautiful. 

Torbjörn had come back, and Brigitte and Reinhardt were thrilled. Angela and Fareeha were also excited, chatting excitedly with the Swedish engineer. 

Torbjörn had brought something back with him- a Bastion unit. 

To be honest, it had scared the shit out of Jesse when they had the official meeting about the unit. Torbjörn said that he had repaired it, and that it was non-violent to the point of pacifism. 

He then contradicted himself by saying that they had his full permission to turn it into slag if it was even the slightest bit violent.

Zenyatta greeted it kindly- him, the Bastion unit was apparently a him. He, the Bastion unit, had said that his name was Bastion, which was a very original name that Torbjörn had given him. 

Zenyatta laughed after it let out a series of beeps and whistles.

It had a pet bird. Zenyatta translated the bird’s name as being Ganymede. Torbjörn said he was going to continue calling it “birdie”.

Torbjörn didn’t trust Zenyatta or Bastion, but then again, if you were him, you wouldn’t trust Omnics. The Omnics that you helped design, the Omnics that turned against humanity, the Omnics that killed.

Bastion got added to the growing roster of beings that Zenyatta counseled.

Torbjörn cornered Jesse after the meet-n-greet was over.

“McCree, what happened to your arm?” he said, gesturing to Jesse’s prosthetic.

“I always admired yours. Figured I’d get one of my own,” Jesse joked.

“Tell me if you ever need repairs,” Torbjörn said, with sad fondness in his tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo Gives someone a gift pt. 2
> 
> Thank you to every single person that has commented or given kudos so far. I tell my family and friends about you, that's how much y'all's support means to me.
> 
> And to y'all who read but don't comment or Kudos, I hope you are enjoying this. I don't know if you are or not unless you tell me, but I hope you are!!!
> 
> Like, it genuinely makes my day to know that someone is enjoying my work. You all are beautiful beings and I hope you have a wonderful day/night.


	15. Devious Tomfoolery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo's POV
> 
> A not so average day at the Watchpoint.

“How have you been getting along with the other agents?” Zenyatta asked.

The room smelled like lemongrass, as Zenyatta had a diffuser that was valiantly pushing a stream of vapor into the air. The room was perfumed but it was not unpleasantly strong. Serene music played seemingly endlessly from Zenyatta’s comm.

“Most of them tolerate my presence, and that is all that I can ask of them,” Hanzo said.

They had been talking for a while already, having gone through the week’s highs and lows.

Zenyatta’s display continued to blink. “Are you not getting along with Agent Tracer or Agent McCree? You had talked to me about them before.”

“They are fools to offer me kindness,” Hanzo bristled. “However, I am not in a situation in which I can reject it.”

“You are deserving of kindness, regardless of your past or your opinion of yourself,” Zenyatta argued.

“If I were to believe that, it would be a disservice to Genji,” Hanzo retorted.

“The only disservice is that you continue to hold this over your own head,” Zenyatta insisted.

“I will not argue that I am refusing to let go of the past. That much is true,” Hanzo agreed.

“This process mostly rests on your shoulders,” Zenyatta reminded. “As with real injuries- to heal you must allow the wound to close.”

“I shall not forget my actions,” Hanzo gruffed out.

“I am not asking you to,” Zenyatta soothed. “Redemption requires remembrance.”

The soothing music filled Hanzo’s bones and made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t deserve to be here, in a place filled with heroes, legends, and generally good people. He was a stain on the agent list, a waste of resources and space.

“I feel as if my quest for redemption is hopeless,” Hanzo admitted to Zenyatta.

Zenyatta waited a moment longer, a tactic in order to make Hanzo say more. Hanzo was familiar with the tactic, so he said nothing. Zenyatta then hummed thoughtfully.

“What is hope, Hanzo-san?” Zenyatta asked, crossing one leg over another in his plush chair.

“Are you asking me to define hope?” Hanzo asked but he did not pause before he explained, “It is a feeling of desire, an intention, or a belief in something.”

“What is ‘Hope’ to you?” Zenyatta rephrased, “Is it perhaps, as Emily Dickinson wrote, ‘the thing with feathers’?”

“No,” Hanzo disagreed before he could catch himself.

“What is it then?” Zenyatta pressed.

“Hope has not had feathers for a long time. Not since…” Hanzo said and then paused knowing that Zenyatta would be disappointed if he continued that statement by saying “I killed Genji”.

Zenyatta said nothing, blinking his display of lights.

Hanzo sighed and backtracked his thoughts. “Hope is something I struggle with maintaining. I know that I have it at times but it is hard to recognize.”

“I have a project for you to work on, similar to the self affirmations you have been writing.” Zenyatta uncrossed his legs and spoke in a calm voice. “Write down the little ways that ‘Hope’ presents itself, what it looks like when you notice it, or what it sounds like. Personify and explore it.”

Zenyatta at times sounded like he was giving a speech to a crowd, voice rising and falling to punctuate meanings.

“I will try,” Hanzo said, glancing at the holoscreen perched on Zenyatta’s desk.

Silence filled the air for a moment, and then another, and then a third.

The chime on Zenyatta’s clock rung out in the small space.

“That is the end of our session for today,” Zenyatta said as they both began to stand. “Go forward with peace and harmony.”

“Thank you,” Hanzo said and then bowed.

Zenyatta bowed and Hanzo exited the room, trailing the smell of sweet citrus out the door with him.

“What is hope?” Hanzo thought to himself as he walked down the hallway.

One of Athena’s cleaning bots scuttled by. It stopped as if to greet him by blinking its lights, and then continued on its merry way.

“Hope is an AI,” came the thought, unbidden.

Hanzo stopped by Winston’s office in order to ask for yet another piece of paper. Winston happily gave it and told Hanzo that he should recycle it once he was done. They had a short and stiffled conversation about some repairs that Winston was planning that he would require help with.

Then Winston promptly went back to sleep, as apparently he needed to sleep upwards of 10 hours in a day.

Hanzo began writing.

_Hope dresses herself in sharp angles and programming_

He opened his comm to check the time and found himself looking at Athena’s chat application.

_She talks with me as if I were her friend_

In came a quickly stumbling McCree, clutching his hat and limping slightly.

“Hanzo-san, help me. Ya gotta hide me from yer brother,” McCree said, entirely too dramatically.

“Why do you believe I would take your side?” Hanzo asked coldly, flipping the piece of paper over and setting a large book about practical geometry on top of it.

McCree clutched at his heart, pretending that Hanzo’s words had physically wounded him.

“To be fair this is not an unexpected development.” Hanzo leveled a gaze at McCree.

“Agent Genji is at McCree’s door,” Athena said.

McCree looked at Hanzo. A look crossed his face that asked for Hanzo’s help.

“If we do not open it, he cannot come in,” Hanzo said quietly.

He was half playing along with the joke, and half trying to avoid seeing his brother. His emotions always felt raw after his sessions with Zenyatta, and forcing himself to spend any long length of time with his brother afterwards typically wore on him even more.

Athena betrayed them both by opening the door for Genji.

McCree shrieked at the sight of Hanzo’s brother. There was no other way to describe the sound- it was too high in pitch to be a shout. Whether or not it was a joke was something Hanzo did not know.

“Why did you eat my chips, Jesse?” Genji said sternly, his voice metallic, his carapace gleaming.

Hanzo had gotten more used to Genji’s cybernetic form, but sometimes it still caught him off guard. Namely at that moment.

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know they were yours!” McCree said, holding up his hands with his palms facing Genji.

“This is over a bag of chips?” Hanzo asked, standing up from his bed.

“Hell yeah, they were tasty,” McCree defended.

“Did you enjoy your last meal, Jesse?” Genji asked, placing a hand onto his wakashi.

“I thought they were Fareeha’s,” McCree claimed.

“As if that makes it any better,” Genji said indignantly. “She also hates it when you steal her food.”

McCree’s face morphed into an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, Genji.”

Genji crossed his arms over his chest. “Buy me more and I will forgive you.”

“Sure thing,” McCree said sincerely.

Genji exited the room and the door hissed closed behind him. Hanzo felt his face fall back into a neutral expression from the feigned smile he wore when Genji was in the room.

McCree exhaled. “I thought I was a goner.”

Hanzo gave a small amused sound and picked up his book about geometry, content to pretend to read through it for a third time, if only to prevent an awkward silence with McCree.

“What’s so funny?” McCree asked.

“You,” Hanzo said, his voice flat.

McCree opened the locked chest at the foot of his bed. He walked over to the archway as Hanzo looked up from reading a line about projectile arches.

“Catch,” McCree said as he threw something at Hanzo. Hanzo registered that it was a bag of chips and then caught it with one hand as he let his book lay on his lap.

Hanzo looked at the chips for a moment. They were indeed the brand that Genji liked to eat.

“Devious, I know, but I wasn’t actually planning on eating them,” McCree said roguishly.

“What were you planning on doing to them?” Hanzo asked as he looked the package over for any obvious signs of tampering. Realistically he knew that any and all prepackaged food came with the risk of being tampered with.

“Nothing bad. Kindly open the bag for me,” McCree requested.

“Why should I help you?” Hanzo asked in a harsh, disbelieving whisper.

“Cause I need yer help,” McCree said blandly, as if that explained anything.

Hanzo leveled an irritated look at McCree, unwilling to repeat his question.

“I ain’t exactly got the finesse for it.” McCree wiggled the fingers of his prosthetic hand as he leaned against the archway. “I can rip through steel with this but plastic bags have got me stumped.”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes, nonverbally expressing his displeasure at the fact that McCree was not answering the underlying question.

“It’s just a harmless prank,” McCree revealed. “There ain’t no need ta mean mug me.”

McCree pulled out a package sealing device, a small thing that sort of looked like a stapler.

“Explain the prank,” Hanzo commanded.

“I’m gonna put a plastic bug in the chips.”

“Bug as in an insect?”

“Yeah,” McCree confirmed, hooking his thumb into his belt loop.

Hanzo said nothing as he scooped up his comm and walked towards the door with the stolen chips.

“Hey,” McCree objected, “No, c’mon now.”

Hanzo paused. He could feel the unamused look on his face, but that did not prevent him from glowering at McCree.

“Seriously, it ain’t gonna bother him none,” insisted the cowboy. “Have a little fun, Mr. Sourpuss.”

It would be a lie to say that Hanzo considered McCree’s request. However, he made it look like he had reconsidered it, thoughtfully looking at the door, and then the chips, and then at McCree.

Hanzo made direct eye contact with McCree as he placed his hand on the panel to open the door.

Thankfully, McCree did not trail Hanzo out of the room.

Hanzo walked slowly towards Genji’s room, which was back towards Zenyatta’s makeshift therapy office.

Hanzo knocked and there was no answer. He didn’t allow himself to ask Athena where Genji was. He was still certain his interactions with the AI were being monitored for any signs of aggression or sudden changes, and asking after his brother whereabouts certainly seemed like something nefarious, despite the fact Hanzo just wanted to give his brother his food back.

He would have left the chips at the door, but then he remembered that it would be the first place McCree would check and he also remembered that Zenyatta talked with Genji frequently throughout the day.

He knocked on Zenyatta’s door, seeing that the light on the door display was green, meaning he wasn’t in a session with someone.

The door slid open.

“Greetings again, Hanzo-san,” Zenyatta said cheerfully, as if it hadn’t been all of twenty minutes since they last spoke.

“Greetings,” Hanzo said, feeling awkward yet again in the peaceful space. He offered the chips forward. “May you please pass these on to Genji?”

“Of course.”

Hanzo was surprised that Zenyatta did not put up any resistence to the request. He placed the bag onto Zenyatta’s desk.

“Is that all you came here for?” Zenyatta questioned.

“Yes,” Hanzo confirmed, waving a goodbye. “Thank you.”

Zenyatta waved back and the door slid shut behind Hanzo.

Hanzo was confused for a moment about the rhythmic jingling and scraping he heard. Then he realized that the rhythmic jingling was spurs.

McCree was running down the hallway for some reason. He came barrelling around the corner, laughing like a mad man with Genji on his heels. They ran the opposite way from Hanzo.

Genji was dragging a heavy ball on a short chain behind him, attached to one of his feet. His steps were uneven because of it. He was also covered in silly string.

Hanzo blinked.

He decided not to question it too much.

“It’s April First!” McCree hollered in sing-song as he got further down the hallway

“It’s August!” came Genji’s surprisingly joyful reply.

“What are you two doing?” Athena asked, her voice almost sounded angry.

“No holds barred,” McCree replied, his voice quieted by the distance as he stopped.

“Rule Number Three: No damage to the grounds,” Athena chided.

“Sorry Athena,” Genji called out, awkwardly trying to pick up the ball and chain from around his foot.

Hanzo walked closer. Genji turned to look at him, pressing his foot to his other leg and letting the ball dangle.

“What is this? Why are there rules?” Hanzo asked.

McCree gasped. “Athena just broke rule numero uno.”

“My apologies,” Athena said, not sounding even slightly sorry. “At least I think he is not a square.”

Genji placed his foot down again with a dull thunk and nodded at McCree

McCree, instead of saying anything, whipped out a can of silly string almost as fast as he would pull his gun out.

Hanzo held his hands up and attempted to keep most of it from going in his face and hair, but he felt the sticky, cold tendrils of the pink material cling to him. The smell of it was the worst part, incomparable to anything else, chemical and invasive.

Hanzo pulled a long strand off of his face, glaring at the cowboy.

“Two for two,” McCree said, an incredibly pleased smile on his face. He had run out of silly string.

Genji then grabbed McCree’s arm and began spraying the back of the cowboy’s head with his own can of blue silly string.

McCree made vague noises of protest and tried to cover his head, knocking his hat off in the process.

Hanzo stood there, mostly unsure of what was happening, and very unhappy at being covered in a webbing of the childish prank material.

“Genji, may I please see that ?” Hanzo asked, holding out his hand for the can of silly string. He felt his face remain in a sour expression, glad that his training allowed him some semblance of control over his expressions.

Genji tentatively held it out to Hanzo, his visor gleaming green.

McCree looked pleased when Hanzo turned the silly string nozzle to Genji. Genji did not move, or flinch.

The cowboy’s first mistake was assuming that Hanzo would try to even remotely upset Genji.

Hanzo tripped the cowboy and began spraying him with the silly string at the same moment.

McCree protested but he was laughing.

Genji was laughing too, the sound would have been familiar and almost comforting, were it not distorted by Genji’s visor.

The can of silly string ran out and Hanzo threw it at McCree’s chest, not hard enough to hurt him.

“I told you he wasn’t a square,” Athena chimed from above.

“More like a rhombus,” Genji quipped, placing his cybernetic hand onto Hanzo’s shoulder, brushing off some pink webbing as he did.

“What is going on?” Hanzo asked.

“We’ll tell you once you stop being a rhombus,” McCree said, jokingly scolding Hanzo.

Hanzo’s day had suddenly gotten weirder after talking to Zenyatta for a second time.

Athena’s cleaning bots were already on the scene, circling them to clean up excess silly string.

Hanzo looked at Genji, hoping his brother might explain.

Genji threw his arms around McCree’s neck. “Carry me and run, Cowboy.”

“You got it, Grinchy,” McCree replied as he scooped Genji up and began running down the hall.

McCree left his hat abandoned on the floor. Hanzo picked it up. His hand brushed against one of Athena’s cleaning bots and he would firmly deny patting the bot if anyone asked him about it.

It seemed like nonsense to Hanzo, but he was certain that it was something Genji and McCree shared from their time in Blackwatch.

When he got back to the room, he deposited the hat onto McCree’s bed.

He went to shower, no longer thinking about anything other than ridding himself of the chemical smell.


	16. On the Train to Rockmount

It was missions like these that cemented Jesse McCree’s opinion of humanity.

Not the good kind of opinion either.

Hanzo was off doing a third sweep of the cars, and Jesse was left to wonder just how many people Deadlock was trafficking on this cargo train.

He opened the door to the car. What greeted him was the faces of people and children, emaciated and scared. Some of them put their fists up, ready to fight for their lives.

“Howdy folks.” Jesse tipped his hat. “Anyone speak English? ¿Hablas Español?”

“Cí,” he heard from different people. “Yes.”

He heard someone gasp in surprise. “El vaquero rojo.”

“¿El vaquero rojo?” he heard a child ask.

“It’s McCree,” he heard one teenager hiss to another one, wary, drawing in on themselves.

He heard someone speak frantically in some other language to another person. Chinese, Jesse believed.

He heard their fear, he heard their hope. He saw an adult hold a child close, shielding them with their body, preparing for the worst. He saw someone’s shoulders slump and their fists come down from where they had raised them.

He wondered when he became “The Red Cowboy”. That was a new one, made sense though.

“I am not going to hurt you,” Jesse announced, and then he repeated the sentence in Spanish.

Some people visibly relaxed but others tensed up more. He wondered how many times they had heard that phrase thrown at them as a lie.

“Me and my friends are here to help,” he fumbled on the word “friends” in Spanish, it seemed like a lie when it was in that language, but in English he had no qualms about it.

“How can we trust you? You’re a _criminal_ ,” asked the teenager that had hissed the statement to their friend before.

“You just have to,” he said, not bothering to translate it. Someone did it for him.

Hanzo came up behind him, the tapping of his feet was much louder than it needed to be.

Jesse turned to look at the archer. Someone had tried to put up a fight earlier and ended up bleeding for it. He had blood on his hands and arms.

“Mr. McCree, I have checked the other cars. All of the known gang members are stilled tied up and being watched over by Genji. Comms are now fully online, please confirm,” Hanzo reported.

“Sangre,” said a child numbly, and an adult covered their eyes.

“Affirmative.” Jesse tapped at his comm. “Archer, ya look like a mess. Go assist Genji, yer scaring people here.”

“¿Arquero?” asked someone. Someone else nodded and they laughed an empty laugh.

“Please remain calm,” Jesse said to the small group as Hanzo walked off again. Someone else translated it for him again.

“Is anyone injured?” Jesse asked, but that one he did translate into Spanish. No one looked injured, but all of them needed food, baths, and probably some water.

Jesse looked around and no one spoke up for a moment.

“He is.”

Jesse stepped into the car, walking towards the person who spoke. Wrapped in their arms was a child around 10, who had a scabbed over head wound.

The kid was awake and was looking very scared. Jesse pulled out his red handkerchief and his water skin. He wiped at the wound after wetting the handkerchief down. It was a relatively small cut.

Jesse felt the hypertrain shift onto a different track. Good. Genji had managed to change course.

He asked the boy how he got the injury. The kid explained that he had bumped his head.

Jesse went through the checklist of concussion symptoms, checking if the kid was experiencing them. The kid’s answers made him clear across the board. Jesse pulled out his tube of biotic cream that Angela had given him and he smeared some on the cut.

He reassured the kid and the adult that they were going to be okay.

A few minutes went by, people seemed to be nervously talking. An undercurrent of anticipation stuck in the air, so dense that it was almost palpable. One kid asked their parent if they would get food eventually, and the parent said “hopefully.” The teenagers stared at Jesse and whispered, not gossiping, but planning in case he betrayed them.

Jesse McCree hated the world.

He hated the goddamn world that he lived in where teens planned to become meat shields to protect others. He hated the world where he was in a dark cargo car surrounded by people. He hated the world in which Deadlock existed. He hated the world where he had been a Deadlock Rebel.

He hated the world, no two ways about it. It was shit. It was a collective pile of shit with some glitter on top occasionally.

“Mr. McCree, I will be dropping in soon,” Hanzo said gruffly over the comm.

He heard someone drop down in the adjacent car. They landed with a soft thud. Was it Hanzo? Did he mean it literally?

Jesse had immediately pulled his gun out just in case.

“My apologies, I was checking the outside of the train again. I had to duck into a car unexpectedly, there was a tunnel,” Hanzo said quietly into the comm. Jesse still peaked his head out to check and he saw Hanzo dusting himself off.

“Fu-frick,” Jesse said but he caught himself before he swore. “Archer, you scared me. Kindly give a guy some warning next time.”

Hanzo pulled his bow off of his shoulder. “I did.”

Jesse kept his gun out. They still had an hour until the train station that they had planned on getting the civilians to. Once there, they would unload the people off the car, call the police, and leave before the police arrived.

“When we get to Rockmount station, I want you all to stick together. We are going to get you to the police, they will help you,” Jesse said. He repeated the statement again in Spanish.

He turned away from the group after making that announcement. The people seemed relieved.

“Athena direct ta Genji,” Jesse said and then he waited a second. “Ninja, everythin’ going okay on yer end?”

“Affirmative, Jesse.”

The rest of the mission went like this:

There was one escape, where one of the Deadlock grunts got loose using a electrocuff breaker. They didn’t even bother to untie anyone else, they just bolted. They jumped out of the train and laid there unmoving. Genji said they had died from the impact with the ground, the splatter of skull on the rock Hanzo said he saw had mostly confirmed it.

Genji jokingly trash talked Hanzo’s “parkour” skills over the general channel of the comm. They talked as if they hadn’t just seen someone die.

Jesse felt bad about the kids going so long without food or water. He let them drink from his water skin without touching their lips to it. Something called “waterfalling” that was for sanitary purposes. Not for his own sanitation, but for theirs.

The group agreed that Hanzo was called “Arquero” or “Archer” and that he looked mean. The pair of teens asked Jesse about “Ninja” and Jesse told them that he was a cyborg. Jesse talked to them about Overwatch. Some looked delighted that he was with Overwatch, a few of them, well, they looked confused.

The kind of confused look you got when someone challenged your world view.

Jesse produced a pack of cards, and played Go Fish with anyone that was willing. The mood lightened up more from there on. Hanzo and Genji were watching over the rest of the gang members, but Genji would occasionally press Jesse for conversation over the general channel of the comms.

There were a few times where he responded to the comm and the group he was playing with looked confused.

“We on time so far?” He asked, pressing the comm in his ear.

He got his affirmative and went back to playing cards.

The kid he had done first aid for asked Jesse if he had ever ridden a horse. He responded truthfully, yes he indeed had.

Then the other teen, the one who had been fairly quiet until that point, simply asked why. Why was he saving them, why had Overwatch come back?

A question Jesse himself wrestled with some nights.

He responded, “I’ve done a lotta bad in my life, so I gotta make good choices from here on out. Same with Overwatch. Remember, it’s never a mistake to save somebody.”

“What if they end up being bad?” asked the more chatty teen.

“As long as you keep your head above the sewage line, you’ll stay out of Overwatch’s view. Do good-  be good- hope for a better future,” Jesse said, not answering the tough question, and then he turned to the person next to them and asked, “Ya got any fours?”

“Go fish.”

The mission ended with only the one casualty.

The people were safe, and they ended up getting the treatment that they needed. Jesse watched the news report as they flew back to Gibraltar. Five hours of flying and a few segments where they talked about the act that Overwatch had done. They asked the audience if Overwatch was good.

After they asked that question they showed an interview of the parent of the little boy that had the cut on his head.

“What do you think about Overwatch now?”

The kid was wrapped in a thick blanket. Ambulance lights danced behind him.

“I would have hoped to never let Jesse McCree be near my child in any other circumstance. It was a miracle-” the parent ruffled their son’s hair.

They looked into the camera, seriousness taking over their expression. “He saved my son and I cannot repay Overwatch or Jesse McCree enough.”

Hanzo and Genji both looked at the screen as they began showing a rough sketch of what Hanzo looked like. It was titled as “Archer”. They said they didn’t have an eye witness account of the other agent, since they couldn’t question the people in custody, but they dubbed him “Ninja” and speculated that he was Asian. They argued whether there was four or three Overwatch agents in the train. They also went into detail about the Deadlock members and how many of them were arrested based on other crimes, as well as arrested for hacking the cargo train.

Hanzo then curled in on himself and continued to play a game on his comm. His legs were up against his chest in the seat and he rested his head against his hand, squishing his face slightly as he thought about the puzzle on the screen. His fingers then jolted across the screen and it advanced to the next level.

They had saved 30 people that day, and Jesse couldn’t find it in himself to feel too bad about the one Deadlock member that died. He hadn’t been responsible, so he didn’t feel responsible for it. It was still a stain on his mind, but it wasn’t irreparable, it wasn’t irredeemable. Some Jack Daniels or a few cigars and he wouldn’t care about it anymore.

Since when did the loss of human life cease to have meaning to Jesse? It might have been around the third or fourth person he killed. It might have been before then, after his found his mama surrounded with pills and a note clutched in her hand.

The thought of his own death had scared him at varying points in his life, but when he was actually faced with it he found no fear.

_Clutching the remains of his left arm, his ears ringing, his head spinning. The thought that he was going to die settled deep into his soul and soothed him like the warm embrace of family. Adrenaline made nothing hurt like it had in the past, and despite the fact that he was bleeding out quickly, he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it too much._

_He’d only panicked about it once he woke up in someone’s house with a dog curled up between his knees and white bandages wrapped around the stump where his arm should have been._

Death might never have really meant much to Jesse besides a means to an end.

Get in, kill some people, get out, rinse and repeat.

An end to a means.

The news station took a poll, Overwatch ratings had gone up slightly. Around one fourth of the people questioned believed that Overwatch was doing the right thing, two fourths were uncertain, and one fourth either refused to answer or said that Overwatch was criminals.

Jesse stretched his legs, talking a walk around the Watchpoint when they landed. He was sore, he was tired, he wanted a drink and he wanted some company.

He ate dinner. It was a quiet affair, no one was holding a team dinner that night so he just reheated some leftovers. Curry that Lena made, or maybe Fareeha made it. Perhaps both of them made it together, they both liked Indian food. Jesse felt the feeling of loneliness crawl up on him, and he decided to go to bed earlier than usual.

He woke up late at night, hearing the soft rustle of fabric in Hanzo’ room.

Both of them were awake.

Jesse got up, it an unusual thing for him to do and he knew it. He heard the soft shuffle of Hanzo removing his knife from under his pillow. Not unusual.

Jesse did not turn his light on, he just stood there, feeling awkwardly large in the small space.

“Hey, partner,” he said. His voice intruding on the quiet.

“What,” Hanzo replied, not harshly, not curiously, not anything other than a word.

“Do ya want a drink?”

Hanzo didn’t respond for a moment, but then made a confused noise.

“Booze,” Jesse clarified.

Hanzo put his knife back under his pillow and Jesse heard him stand up. “Yes.”

The archer turned his lights up, slowly raising them until it was just enough to be able to see. Jesse did the same.

Hanzo opened the curtain and asked, “Your room or mine?”

“Which do ya prefer?” Jesse asked as he dug his bottle and his shot glasses out from his pack. Wild Turkey 81 proof, while nice on its own, was even better when you had company.

“Honestly-” Hanzo started, and seemed to catch himself. “Yours.”

Jesse hummed an affirmative. Hanzo was brandishing a bottle of sake and sitting on the edge of Jesse’s bed when Jesse turned to look at him. Hanzo made a move like he was going to get up.

Jesse sat down on his bed, halfway facing Hanzo with one of his legs crossed on the bed and the other left with his foot touching the floor. He handed Hanzo a shot glass.

“Ya know that sake’s not half bad, but I prefer a little bite to my liquor,” Jesse said, opening his bottle.

“How predictable!” Hanzo exclaimed. “Such an unsophisticated taste.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse dismissed.

Hanzo chuckled politely.

“Hey, weird question,” Jesse said, fully expecting rejection. “Do ya wanna do one of those get-ta-know-ya-better games or do ya just wanna drink?”

“I would not be opposed to playing a game,” Hanzo said. “I assume it is some sort of drinking game?”

“Yep. I know a good one that’s called ‘Fess Up or Poison’,” Jesse explained.

“Intriguing,” Hanzo commented blandly.

“What?” Jesse gave him a look. “Yer judgin’ based on the name?”

Hanzo looked at his own nails. “It sounds ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” Jesse agreed. “I made it up when I was twenty.”

Hanzo gave a small smile. “How do you play?”

Jesse liked this part, explaining the rules of his silly drinking game to other people.

“It’s a little like two truths and a lie, but a little better adjusted for drinking,” Jesse compared.

“I have never played two truths and a lie,” Hanzo said.

Jesse smiled. “It ain’t exactly like two truths and a lie, so I have to explain more anyways.”

Hanzo gave him a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

“Okay, so, we each take turns. On those turns, we say one truth about ourselves, and one lie,” Jesse said, swishing the Wild Turkey around in the bottle. “The other person has to guess which one is the lie. If they guess incorrectly, they drink.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Hanzo said, “it is a fifty-fifty chance.”

“Yeah, but the game has a second part. If the guesser guesses correct, they get to ask the first person one question about anything they want,” Jesse elaborated, then continued, “the first person can then either answer the question honestly or they drink. That’s where the name comes from.”

“This sounds like a horrifically honest game,” Hanzo said stiffly.

“Yup."

“I would have an unfair advantage in this game,” Hanzo said.

Jesse looked him in the eyes. “How’s that?”

Hanzo showed Jesse the label of his drink. “My drink has a far lower alcohol content.”

It did indeed. It had less than half of the alcohol content than Jesse’s, if the little number 16 that Hanzo was pointing to could be trusted.

“Huh, imagine that,” Jesse exclaimed, “Never expected ya ta drink like a soccer mom.”

“That is an insult I do not fully understand,” Hanzo said, pushing Jesse’s shoulder gently with one hand, “Regardless, I take offense.”

“Alright.” Jesse handed him a shot glass. “Do ya want us to both drink yer drink or both drink mine?”

“I am feeling generous,” Hanzo joked, “We may drink yours.”

“Well thank ya kindly, Hanzo-san,” Jesse said as he filled Hanzo’s shot glass first.

“Do you wish to go first?” Hanzo asked, looking down at the golden straw colored liquid in the metal shot glass.

“Alright, so,” Jesse said and then he thought of a good set to start out with. “I can swim or I speak a lot of Japanese, which is the lie?”

“You do not actually speak Japanese,” Hanzo said with certainty.

“Correct,” Jesse said, giving Hanzo a finger gun with his prosthetic. “How’d ya know?”

“Your insult was very practiced,” Hanzo explained, “however, it is obvious that you mostly rely on body language and tone while knowing at least a few words.”

“Yep.” Jesse ran his prosthetic’s thumb along the edge of the bottle’s label. “Now ya get to ask me a question since ya got it correct.”

“This-” Hanzo pointed to his own right eye. “This ‘Deadeye’... what is it?”

“It’s a curse,” Jesse said, and he almost wished he had drank instead.

“Understandable, I knew that,” Hanzo said, not at all surprised. _“What is it?_ ”

“Whadda ya mean?”

“What is the curse?” Hanzo asked.

“Family curse. Dunno why my Grandpa got it,” Jesse told, definitely wishing he had drank instead. “Gives me really good aim and murderous urges.”

“I see,” Hanzo said thoughtfully, nodding, “and the red- it is part of the curse?”

“That’s two questions now, Hanzo-san,” Jesse pointed out, holding up two fingers from his grip around the bottle. “Suppose I’ll allow it though. The red is part of the curse, yeah. Usually it becomes red when I’m usin’  it, but sometimes Deadeye flares up on its own, like what happened when I was outside workin'.”

“Ah,” Hanzo nodded once, “that seems inconvenient.”

“It ain’t too bad. It ended up killing some of my family, but it ain’t too bad.” Jesse diminished the severity for a joke. “Yer turn.”

“I hate the color orange,” Hanzo said as he dipped a finger into his own shot glass, “or I can only speak two languages.”

“Easy,” Jesse said haughtily. “Ya can actually speak at least four- Genji told me that much. Also ya don’t seem ta like warm colors.”

Hanzo huffed. “I should have chose a more challenging question.”

“Alright. Since ya asked about my family, I’m gonna ask about yer family. Did they force you ta get the mark on your left arm?”

“They did. It was part of their control over me,” Hanzo sounded mournful. “All Shimada who are vessels for the Dragons have been marked in such a way.”

“Was it painful?” Jesse found himself asking.

“I had to remain awake for the entire scarification process, but it was not painful. The healing process was, however,” Hanzo said, and then he dipped his finger into his shot glass again and then stuck his finger into his mouth.

“Yeesh.” Jesse cringed. “Sorry ya had to go through that.”

Hanzo’s face remained unchanging. “It is your turn.”

“Sure thing, sorry fer bringing it up,” Jesse said, thinking of a lighter one. “I had a cat named ‘Meow’ or I had a small family.”

“Your family could not possibly be small,” Hanzo said, as if he knew.

“Wrong!” Jesse cheered, “I only had like, seven total relatives, and only half were actually blood.”

Hanzo looked at him as if he didn’t believe Jesse.

“In addition ta that, I was an only child,” Jesse boasted.

Hanzo drank quickly and smacked his hand down once roughly on the bed, jostling the sake bottle next to his hand slightly.

“Burns, don’t it?” Jesse asked, feeling smug.

“So you did not name a cat ‘Meow’?” Hanzo said, sounding a little shocked.

“Nah, I name them all after Greek deities and the like,” Jesse revealed. “It was somethin’ my grandma used to do. I like Bastion’s bird, Ganymede, cause it reminded me of that. ”

“Sounds lovely,” Hanzo said, surprisingly with no sarcasm.

“Yer turn again.”

“I have done a cartwheel or I am afraid of bees,” Hanzo said.

This one was tricky. It seemed like one of those ones where it’s the opposite of what you would expect. Hanzo’s face gave away nothing.

“Yer not actually afraid of bees.”

“Drink.”

Jesse drank, confused.

“So yer telling me, Mister ‘I-flip-in-the-air-to-fire-my-bow’ ain’t ever done a cartwheel?” Jesse said once his throat was feeling a little more normal.

“That is exactly what I am telling you,” Hanzo looked down at his shot glass and seemed to remember it was empty. He held it out for Jesse to fill.

Jesse refilled Hanzo’s shot glass and then his own.

“Hell, even I’ve done a cartwheel,” Jesse exclaimed as he capped the bottle again, “Yer actually afraid of bees? They’re tiny and cute and a lot of them don’t want to harm anyone.”

“Have you seen a ōsuzumebachi in Japan?” Hanzo defended, “They are exceptionally large.”

“Ain’t really been around Japan much, mostly ‘cause I don’t got a firm grasp of the language,” Jesse pointed out. “I visited some places there that Genji recommended. Real nice but I didn’t see much of it before I had to hightail it outta there.”

“That sounds like a story.”

“It is,” Jesse muttered, “I got an article written ‘bout little old me busting a robbery attempt at Rikimaru.”

“Someone attempted to rob Rikimaru?” Hanzo said, looking affronted.

“A whole lot of somebodies.” Jesse gestured. “Four, all wearing suits and packing heat.”

“Ah, so that is how it is.” Hanzo ran his finger along the edge of the shot glass. “It is your turn again, Mr. McCree.”

“Alright. My name is actually Joel,” Jesse said, “or I love cooking.”

“I have seen you cook,” Hanzo stated, “Your name is not Joel.”

“Fuck yeah. Ya got it right, I hate the name Joel,” Jesse said cheerily.

"Genji told me that you might be a writer that goes under the name Joel Morricone,” Hanzo told, “So that is not true?”

“Ew, no.” Jesse scrunched his face up. “I wouldn’t call myself that even if I got a million bucks for it.”

“I will take your word for it.”

“That was your question, right,”  Jesse confirmed, “whether I’m Morricone or not?”

“Yes. It is my turn now.” Hanzo seemed to think for a moment.

“Whenever yer ready.”

Hanzo smiled. “I like this game or I would rather be asleep.”

Would Hanzo be cruel enough to present that choice and have the first option be a lie?

“Well shucks,” Jesse said, “I hope the lie is the second one.”

Hanzo smirked and placed a hand on Jesse’s arm. “Drink.”

Apparently, Hanzo was exactly as cruel as that.

Jesse shrugged. “Alright.”

Jesse would let Hanzo go back to sleep after this last shot, the archer deserved the rest.

Hanzo chuckled and removed his hand. “I was kidding.”

Jesse brought the shot glass back down, liquid still inside it. “So ya do actually like the game?”

“Why would I continue to play if I did not?” Hanzo gestured to the fact he was still sitting down.

Jesse shrugged half heartedly and said, “Dunno if ya were jest being polite or not.”

“You still have a question you are allowed to ask,” Hanzo reminded, looking at Jesse’s shelves that he helped design.

“Yeah, I’m tryin’ ta think of a good one.” Jesse sloshed the liquid in the bottle around.

“Thinking must be difficult for you,” Hanzo joked.

“Hey, don’t you sass me,” Jesse scolded. “Ah, I got it- Would ya mind if I asked ya ta call me Jesse?”

Hanzo paused for a moment, rolled one shoulder, and then downed his shot. His expression gave away very little, but his avoidance was somewhat telling. He did mind.

“Now that’s jest mean, pardner,” Jesse complained.

Hanzo smirked as Jesse refilled his shot.

“I never claimed to be nice,” Hanzo pointed out, when Jesse pulled the bottle away. “It is your turn.”

“I'm actually only 35, or I'm actually 40,” Jesse said casually. He wanted to see if Hanzo would highball or lowball his age.

“Neither of those are true,” Hanzo muttered angrily.

“Right again,” Jesse said with a plastered on smile. Hanzo glared at him, assessing.

“Play properly, you have only had one shot and yet you are acting silly,” Hanzo scolded.

“I’m only acting silly cause I want a distraction and you’re decent company,” Jesse said, trying his best to sound sincere, because he was.

“So I am a distraction?” Hanzo deadpanned.

“No, acting silly is a distraction,” Jesse backtracked, hoping to get Hanzo off of that line of thinking.

“A distraction from what?” Hanzo asked, curiosity and accusation in his tone.

“I don’t gotta answer that cause you haven’t guessed correctly yet,” Jesse defended.

“You have not presented the real choices yet,” Hanzo reprimanded.

“Alright, I have piercings, or I had an outie until I was four,” Jesse said.

Hanzo looked confused. “What is an outie?”

“It’s when your belly button goes out rather than in,” Jesse explained.

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “This is a hard one.”

“Guess."

“You had an outie as a child,” Hanzo said with certainty.

Jesse smiled widely and Hanzo took his shot.

“I take back what I said about liking this game,” Hanzo muttered.

“That’s only ‘cause you’re losing,” Jesse pointed out.

“When did you get your piercings?” Hanzo asked incredulously.

“I must have been around sixteen when I got my first ones, I think?” Jesse mused, squishing his right earlobe between his flesh fingers. “I don’t wear any jewelry anymore, but I got quite a few.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow.

Jesse playfully smacked him. “I meant my ears were pierced multiple times. Get yer mind out of the gutter, old man.”

“I am only one year older than you,” Hanzo retorted. “If I am an old man what does that make you?”

“One year yer junior with no gray hairs,” Jesse answered the rhetorical question with a jab.

He considered jokingly calling Hanzo “Senpai,” but he knew Hanzo probably wouldn’t like it.

“I have thought about getting piercings,” Hanzo admitted after a quiet moment. “Does it hurt?”

“Stung like a bitch,” Jesse recalled, “then again, I was a whiny sixteen year old when I got ‘em done.”

They drank more, and Jesse found himself drinking more often than Hanzo did. Hanzo had a terribly good poker face, and once he got the hang of telling the truth as if it were a lie, he was so incredibly good at doing it. It was the opposite of what he had been trained for, telling lies as if they were the truth.

They continued the game until Hanzo laughed at a joke Jesse made, blinked, and then seemed to realize where he was and who he was with.

It took Hanzo one more round from that point to excuse himself politely. Jesse let him stumble back to his side, his heart the same weight as it had been before, but somehow it seemed more manageable with the drink and the company.

“Good night, Jesse,” Hanzo said as he closed the curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter before the Reunion short, but technically my version of Jesse losing his arm doesn't contradict canon


	17. Wear and Compare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So anyways this chapter is a lot of navelgazing and Angst. It's happy at parts. Two "new" faces show up, two old faces do as well.
> 
> Content warning for passive thoughts of suicide.
> 
> It's full of vague throwbacks to a lot of different chapters. 
> 
> If you _really_ want to skip the angst it's fine. Just go until the line "The flight back to Gibraltar was short and full of..." The angst ends with a "--"

His cold weather supplies tended to leave him without many comforts, so he did not deny too firmly when Jesse offered him some of his own. He said he would be fine twice to be polite but then gave in, thanking Jesse.

  
Hanzo was being selfish, and he knew it, he should be more self reliant, more firm in his refusal. His dragons were suspiciously not berating him for being so reliant.

  
Jesse brushed it off as not a big deal, but Hanzo was already planning on what to gift the cowboy in return.

  
They had, over the months, become something that Hanzo would like to call friends. They were certainly drinking buddies, but even without alcohol they got along most of the time.

  
Overwatch was searching for the reason as to why strange signals were appearing in this area. The Viking remains and artifacts in the caves used to be a tourist attraction, but the museum was closed for preservation when the economy took a hit during the Omnic Crisis. Overwatch suspected that something nefarious was going on, as a group of people had gone missing from the nearby town in numbers that suggested something else.

  
In total for Hanzo the mission in the wintery waste was a day of boredom, a day of thought, and a day without set routine. He hated it but it also cleared him mind. There was something interestingly peaceful and equally eerie about the sloping landscape.

  
The conditions were austere but he found something purging about the pressure and strain he put on his body as he gathered data using Winston’s handheld device. Something knotted had loosened itself itself in his soul as he searched.

  
The air outside was frustratingly cold, the sky was a bruised black-blue but only as the day dipped closer to night. Otherwise it shone as white as the snow during the day. Athena was watching his back with her drone and bot and he trusted her, far more than he should.

  
_Hope dresses herself in sharp angles and programming; she talks with me as if I were her friend._ Hanzo recalled the line from his poem about the AI, surprised at his ability to recall the line he wrote so long ago. Zenyatta hadn’t pressed to hear the poem, and Hanzo was glad, as it felt unfinished.

  
When Hanzo settled enough for dinner, it was the dead of night. He listened for any sounds for a long while, but there were none. He was safe, heavy and warm under a thick serape with his MRE finished besides him. It was beginning to get cold in the area, the ache of winter had begun settling into the bones of the building and into his own.

  
His nose bore the brunt of the chill along with his rear end, sitting on frigid concrete and slowly losing sensation in the areas touching the ground despite his thermal gear. He tucked his head under the fabric and-  
The serape smelled like McCree.

  
Hanzo forcefully brought his head back out.  
This was not a surprising fact, of course one of Jesse’s items would smell entirely like him, what surprised Hanzo was the fact that he didn’t mind.

  
He tucked his head back under the serape, hiding from the thought but also trying to figure out what exactly the smell was.

  
The serape didn’t just smell like wool.

  
Nor did it just smell like coffee, the black coffee that had become something else. The serape didn’t just smell like cigar smoke. The serape didn’t just smell of whiskey or just of desert dust.

  
The serape smelled of all that… but also of something warm and human that no cologne could replicate properly. Not musk, it was not oppressive and all consuming like musk was.

Hanzo realized with a start that his mind had wandered to his roommate more than it had a right to and he stopped acting silly immediately following it. It was serious. He could die on his mission out here, he couldn’t let his mind wander.

  
But wander it did and he hated it.

  
He even tried to meditate and found himself thinking of Jesse’s laughter again. He hadn’t been so easily distracted while meditating in years, but he supposed that he hadn’t had anyone as close to a friend for just as long. The thoughts were slowly becoming more bitter the longer he avoided thinking about them.

  
He probably hated him- they were not truly friends- for sure. The atmosphere of camaraderie that Jesse and him had was carefully constructed in the beginning on both of their parts. He knew that for certain. It was probably still the case for Jesse. How could anyone truly want to be around Hanzo? How had Hanzo been so stupid? How had he-

  
Hanzo inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself down. He was hopeless.

  
“ _Childish man_ ,” the dragons grumbled, coiling around each other under his skin.

  
He was thoroughly and fully spiraling into the tragic realization that this genuine appreciation would gain him nothing. What if Genji knew? Would he think that Hanzo’s quest for redemption was being derailed, making him resentful?

  
What if Jesse knew and would use it against him?

  
Instead of fighting the thoughts and failing, Hanzo let himself ruminate in them. He wanted to... He didn’t know what he wanted yet, if he was being truthful with himself.

  
“It matters none,” he reminded himself and the dragons as he flung himself into his work.

  
Hanzo eventually found what was causing the signals, a palm sized cube, hidden in the chambered alcoves of the museum, a few meters away from the entrance into the caves. Dust hung in the air and clung to the abandoned artifact tables as water from the ceiling dripped onto concrete. The air was stale, yet Hanzo willingly breathed it in. The only alternative was to bring the serape up as a barrier.

  
It was obvious to him, given the plans strewn around, that whoever was here was trying to develop something to do with the Detroit Omnium. The endeavour was abandoned most likely when the cautionary evacuation happened a few months before.

  
He took the map they had made of the inside of the compound and he looked at the device. He snapped several pictures of it and brought it out of the cellar with him.

  
The flight back to Gibraltar was short and full of turbulence of many different types.

  
He came back to the room to find Jesse loudly sniffling just past the thick privacy curtain. He hadn’t know the man to cry much, but given what his brother had told him, this was to be expected from a large portion of Overwatch at the moment.

  
Zenyatta was taking calls from halfway across the world in order to console a group of vigilantes. Currently, it seemed that only Hanzo, Athena, and Winston were the only emotionally functional members of Overwatch at the moment. Winston only tentatively so.

  
He supposed it was deserved given the events Genji had told him about on the flight back from his excursion.

  
“M’So- I’m a fuckin’ mess,” Jesse sniffled. “Sorry.”

  
“Are you talking to me?” Ever such a diplomat, Hanzo had no clue how to deal with him right now.

  
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “M’sorry m’being so damn bothersome.”

  
Hanzo noted the slur in his voice. He pulled his own dirtied gear off, half dead on his feet. “Have you been drinking?”

  
“Not yet- but I’m gonna.”

  
A grunt passed his lips as he tugged on a clean blue t-shirt and ran a hand through his grimy hair. “You are not a bother.”

  
Jesse half-laughed half-choked which cause him to still at the curtain for a moment before he knocked.

  
“Go ahead,” Jesse grumbled. “I’m in awful state though.”

  
He took in the sight of Jesse sitting leaning against his bed, his blanket sprawled and draped around his legs, his serape wadded up in the corner of his room. His shirt and hair disheveled. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot.

  
Jesse opened a bottle of whiskey, cheap even for his tastes, and took a swig. He then offered it up to Hanzo.

  
It stank like subtle disease in the air.

  
He took the offered bottle sitting down with his knee brushing against Jesse’s.

  
“Misery loves company.”

  
“Except I am not miserable for once,” Hanzo argued, holding onto the bottle loosely.

  
Jesse hummed dismissively, thumbing open his comm device.

  
Hanzo couldn’t help but look over to see the title of a playlist as Jesse scrolled past it.

  
“‘Tunes for when I want to die’?” Hanzo questioned. “This is not the twenty twenties, fatalistic humor is no longer a social norm.”

  
Jesse frowned but then placed a insincere smile across his face. “Ain’t that neat! I didn’t ask for your ‘pinion.”

  
Quiet took over in the chasm that the rebuttal had split open, tense air flaring between them. The bottom of Hanzo’s stomach curled, unpleasant in response to his misstep. He thought to himself that at least Jesse looked more irritated and less despondent, it was perhaps a good thing. Angry could be helped, numb couldn’t.

  
“What kind of songs do you have in that playlist?” Hanzo found himself asking, slightly dreading the answer- the colorful album covers offering potiental deception.

  
Jesse pressed a button and cheerful ukulele strummed out with a cute childish voice. “S’Happy songs.”

  
“That is-” Hanzo cleared this throat. “That is very nice.”

  
“My ‘Party Playlist’ is full o’ songs that make me feel worse," Jesse went on as he tapped the cheerful music off. “Been listening to it far too much today.”

  
“Do you listen to music as a form of catharsis?”

  
Jesse didn’t answer the question directly, but his response was broken and honest.

  
“Shrike.”

  
Hanzo only vaguely knew what he meant by that, Winston had informed him that Ana Amari was operating under the alias Shrike in Egypt before she had revealed herself to Overwatch. He had never made the connection between the two himself, but that was because he hadn’t spent much time in Egypt or looking at Shrike’s movements.

  
Jesse halfway closed his eyes, and then his head fell and his eyes closed fully.

  
“Are you falling asleep?”

  
Jesse jolted, turning to Hanzo. “Hm? No, no- just resting my eyes some.”

  
“How long have you been up?”

  
“When did you fly out for your mission?” Jesse said, squinting thoughtfully.

  
Hanzo already could guess the answer based on his own. “Twenty four hours ago.”

  
He smiled slightly, but there was nothing behind his eyes. “Ain’t as bad as I thought, I’ve only been up for around that amount, same as you.”

  
A metal hand reached out to take back his booze, but Hanzo moved it across his body, away from him.

  
“What?” Jesse barked, his voice raw and hilariously it could be described as almost a tad juvenile. “You gonna be enforcing a bedtime? I ain’t a child.”

  
“I do not think you a child- I think you are currently a harm to yourself,” Hanzo argued, voice low and purposefully warmed. “You helped me the same way when the roles were reversed.”

  
“Oh, fuck off man,” he huffed.

  
Hanzo stood, crossing the room to place the bottle onto the shelf next to Jesse’s guns.  
“I will say that I am not doing it to taunt you or make you feel worse.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
“Yes?” Hanzo set his face into a neutral position, not fully understanding what Jesse had meant.

  
“Somehow you genuinely wanting to help me is just a big ole punch in the gut.”

  
“It is understandable.” Hanzo huffed out warm air. “I am going to help you regardless.”

  
“Alright.”

  
Hanzo found himself at a loss for how to actually go about assisting the man sitting beside him. He would offer physical reassurance, a comforting hug, but the thought alone made his skin crawl unpleasantly with his own overwhelming exhaustion.

  
“What do you typically do when you are upset?” Hanzo prompted.

  
“Drink.”

  
That prompted him to snort out a laugh. “We need to get better coping skills.”

  
Jesse chuckled stickily, something wrong about the sound. “Preaching to the choir.”

  
“The pleasant music helps, correct?” he tried again. “You may put it on again is you wish.”

  
“Yeah, some.” Jesse tapped the music on once again, waiting only a breaths length in order to speak over the low strum. “I feel bad about feeling bad, if that makes sense."

  
“Why?”

  
“Reckon you’ve gone through more than I have regardin’ this type of trouble,” Jesse said, “Findin’ out your boss is alive after half a decade is less earth-shattering than finding out that your kin is after nearly a whole one.”

  
“You went through it three times in one day.”

  
Jesse’s brown hair sweeped into his eyes when he shook his head.

  
“Nah, I knew something was off about Morrison n’ I had a heavy suspicion ‘bout the Reaper.”

His hand reached for the bottle before he seemed to remember that Hanzo had put it away. “I accepted Reyes as dead long ago, it’s easier."

  
“She caught you by surprise?”

  
Jesse nodded once. “Ms. Amari always had a tendency to.”

  
The air felt unreal to Hanzo, tinted with the strangeness that came with a lack of sleep.

  
“Suffering is not a competition,” Hanzo said, crossing his arms and resting them on his knees. “This is something upsetting, and you are allowed to have negative emotions even if you believe someone else is going through worse.”

  
Jesse nodded sleepily, his eyes flashing open again. He was exhausted and Hanzo could tell he was trying to hide it.

  
“My experiences do not invalidate yours."

  
Jesse hummed, his brow umscrunching. “Thank you.”

  
“They are here, on base, Morrison and her, when you are ready to talk to them,” Hanzo reminded. His voice felt so quiet, as if he was afraid of waking him.

  
Jesse groaned. “I need to actually do something useful regardin’ this.”

  
“Getting sleep would be useful.”

  
“I still got your pain pills from all those months ago,” Jesse murmured, eyes unfocused and head turned to the side. “Can you kindly take them from my p’ssession and get me my cigarillos?”

  
“Where are they?”

  
Both the cigarillos and pills under a bag of Jesse’s less frequently used gear, which was a concerning sight. When Hanzo heard him light up his smoke and take a slow draw of it, something in the room settled a little more, the clawing desperation that had seemed to seep out of the cowboy eased and tapered.

  
“I-” Jesse cut himself off.

Hanzo glanced over as he gathered his words, almost able to see the doubts rolling just under the surface.

  
“How was your mission?”

  
“It was successful to a degree,” Hanzo said, feeling a flicker of warmth and shame in equal measures. “I have your serape still, I will wash it and return it as soon as possible.”

  
“It’s wool,” Jesse reminded, “It does better to be washed in a specific way with special kind of detergent- I’ll do it.”

  
“Thank you for lending it, you are too kind."

  
“Nobody’s ever accused me of that,” Jesse joked.

  
“Be reasonable,” Hanzo teased, “at least one misguided soul must have."

  
“I tried being reasonable-” he drawls, his voice smoothed by bettering mood- “didn’t take to it.”

  
“Get some rest,” Hanzo huffed, rolling his eyes. “Or I will tie you to the bed.”

  
“Really rich coming from the resident insomniac,” he said, letting out a groan as he got up off the floor.

  
Hanzo took the offered hand up, crossing the room to retrieve the whiskey so he could take it and the pain pills out of Jesse’s possession.

  
“Am I allowed to hold onto your firearms for the night?” His voice intruded on the quiet as he eyed the pistols.

  
Jesse was quiet for a beat too long. The dragons hissed the warning “ _Danger,_ ” up Hanzo’s spine, heavy and attention grabbing.

  
Jesse was quiet for a beat too long, and the next thing out of his mouth was an incredibly blatant lie.

  
“I wouldn’t consider it.”

  
Hanzo took the lie with little patience.

  
“Jesse McCree, I am trusting you not to,” he warned. “They would be just beyond the curtain, in plain sight, I will take care of them.”

  
Jesse was quiet.

  
“If you do not come into my side of the room during the night with the intention to harm either of us,” Hanzo said, “then you have my word that no harm will come to you or your firearms.”

  
“Go ahead-” he relinquished. “I don’t like it, but I understand it."

  
Hanzo stayed awake for just long enough to be certain that Jesse was asleep. His eyes closing without his command, he himself then drifting off into something close to a dream.

  
\--

  
He walked along a road, storefronts twisting along the bend of the street like leaning faces. Realistic fake food in display cases and the mouthwatering sight of _ayu_ , fried and bent twice over their own scaly bodies on sticks, their scent salty.

  
Old buildings crowned with sloped Japanese style roofs against the green and blue backdrop of summer. The crisp mountain air soothing as the sight of small creatures stumbling in the corners of civilization.

  
Two children ran by him, their features soft and joyful as he continued walking, a destination in mind with no significant rush to reach it.

  
He was talking to Genji on his phone, about the mountains of Nepal of all things, and how they compared to the green mountains entirely surrounding him, fading into the background with their distance.

  
Slowly he realized he was in control of his dream. The realization meant he could apologize to Genji over the phone for forgetting his reason for coming to Overwatch.

  
Silence met him on the other end of the phone, then a small chuckle.

  
“What do you want me to say, brother? You control this dream,” Genji teased.

  
“Ah, I do, don’t I?” he chuckled, staring down at the koi collecting underfoot in a street gutter. “I have spent too much time talking to my own unreasonable self.”

  
“Even underneath your self-loathing, some part of you understands that I will not be upset,” Genji said, and Hanzo could hear the laugh under the words. “You could use some friends.”

  
The cicadas crooned on as Hanzo paused to consider a sign about sparklers as well as his brother’s words.

  
“Thank you, Genji.”

  
Hanzo watched as an orange koi leaped out of the gutter, its splotches of golden scales glittering in the sun.

  
The phone call ended, and Hanzo felt the peace it had wrung out of him dissipate quickly. Another koi leaped. It hung in the air a moment. Then began turning into swirling white-blue coils of magic.

  
One of his dragons appeared before him, morphing from the swirling mass. It grew into its true form, body language angry.

  
“There is peace and opportunity here, Master, and yet you do nothing, you want for nothing, you ask for nothing, and you receive nothing.”

  
The singular voice was far easier for Hanzo’s mind to grasp, but it was highly unusual to only see or hear one of the spirits.

  
“Where is your companion?” Hanzo questioned, voice firm.

  
“You are both so stubborn and full of distrust- what will we do?” It asked, ignoring Hanzo’s question.

  
“Who do you speak of?”

  
“Where is your comrade? The one whose spirit is so similar to your own?” It asked.

  
“You are not allowed to hurt him.” Hanzo’s voice was resolved, it was a command.

  
“We waited patiently, and yet you have not allowed us a break from the confines of your mortal flesh, Master.” It hissed, powerful body moving in waves. “So we have done as we please, but it is not to harm.”

  
“What have you done?”

  
“Follow."

  
Hanzo followed the spirit through the town, until they came upon the jumping bridge that  _Gujo Hachiman_  boasted. Children dared each other to jump from the great height and Hanzo’s eyes scanned the crowd to to see-

  
Jesse Mccree leaning against a railing, dressed in a t-shirt and swim shorts, safe and smiling with crinkled eyes in the sun.

  
Hanzo’s other dragon hung in the air above the bridge.

  
“Is he aware?” Hanzo asked in a harsh whisper. “Can he see us?”

  
Jesse’s eyes had not moved from the group of kids bickering and conversing. Two of the kids played _Jyan ken pon_ to determine who would jump first.

  
“He believes this is a dream and he knows of my companion’s existence,” It said, looking fondly up at the cheerful and slick blue form twirling above the bridge. “He is not aware of you or me, but he could see us if he looks over.”

  
“How could you allow him here?” Hanzo hissed, ducking into the nearby storefront and further into the shop.

  
He had known the dragon would follow, it hated conversations ending abruptly, he turned to look sternly at it. “You have not done this for anyone but for those who I have requested, and never in this way.”

  
“Would you believe we have some form of free will, Master?” It snarked. “Beyond our distaste for your past actions, we do actually care about you and the people you choose to trust.”

  
It’s body rippled in the small storefront, a movement starting from the head to end of its tail.

  
“My apologies.” Hanzo bowed, when he rose he saw the furrow in the dragon’s brow had smoothed. “I simply wanted to know the reasoning behind this.”

  
“Master,” It said, the noise half amused and exasperated. “We forget that you cannot see as we do, that you are as mortal as any other soul.”

  
“I forget as well at times.”

  
The sounds of summer and cheering drummed on outside. Hanzo waited for the spirit to give its reasoning.

  
“Would you rather that he be unaware that you are here?”

  
“Yes,” Hanzo grumbled, something far-off turning in his mind about cowardly actions. “Make it so I am unseen and unheard.”

  
“Shall I make myself unseen as well?”

  
“You need not if you do not want to.”

  
Hanzo found himself strolling back out of the store, momentarily worried that it would go back on its word. He had not expected this reaction from them for neglecting to release them out into the world.

  
“Alright! Alright!” Jesse said to the kid pulling on his shirt. “I’ll jump if you beat me.”

  
He turned to see the arrival of Hanzo’s other dragon, checking the location where the first was still twirling serenely in the air before whistling low. “Well I’ll be a son of a gun.”

  
Hanzo watched as his dragon floated over to greet Jesse. Stayed silent to see it hovering in front of him, its front legs holding onto the handrail. He moved closer without thinking, without breathing.

  
“What's an Honorable Spirit like you doing in a place like this?”

  
The dragon snorted and smiled widely in response, its dagger teeth flashing in the sunlight, looking from Jesse up to its companion. “This flirt- do you believe him? Disgusting.”

  
“Hey now!” Jesse protested, “It’s a genuine question, I don’t normally dream things like this, you’re a mighty nice change.”

  
Hanzo watched the twins furrow their brows in concern and couldn’t help the slight twitch of his own.

  
“ _You are unfortunately similar in this fact_ ,” the dragons said somberly at the same time, and it appeared to hurt Jesse’s brain as much as his own.

  
None of the children reacted, caught up in their own conversations. Perhaps figments, perhaps spirits, but undoubtedly unbothered.

  
Jesse laughed after a moment, “Do you get nightmares too? Or are you talking about someone else?”

  
“Remember this moment,” the kinder twin said as its companion joined it above them, ignoring Jesse’s question but speaking to both Hanzo and Jesse at the same time. “Summer and night are both fleeting for mortals.”

  
Jesse turned away and started climbing the railing, looking down at the kid he said he would play _Jyan ken pon_ with. “I’ve gotta listen to that incredibly sound advice, we can do the stand-off next time, kid.”

  
Hanzo watched in amusement before the more curt spirit spoke again. “Master- enjoy yourself.”

  
Hanzo climbed, standing on the curved bar next to Jesse though he was unseen.

  
“This is a lot taller than I thought it’d be,” Jesse murmured.

  
Hanzo looked at his face, although slight worry covered it, he looked happier than he had when waking.

  
He reached out a hand, and pushed.

  
Jesse whooped a call of “Geronimo!” as he fell. He straightened his legs so that he would not be hurt

He splashed as he met the water.

  
It took a moment before Hanzo realized he wouldn’t surface, his stomach dropping at the sight of gently moving water.

  
“Worry not,” the gentle spirit spoke, “He is unharmed, merely sleeping.”

  
Hanzo followed off the bridge, a chuckle escaping him as he plummeted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse showing affection to floating things controlled by other part 3
> 
>  
> 
> A very large thank you to the people who I am aware of and not aware of who've recommended this fic to other people. Y'all know who you are, and you've got a special place waiting for you in fluff heaven as far as I'm concerned.
> 
> And a Jumbo Extra Large Sized thank you to brocsox on Instagram who made fanart of something specifically in this fic! Fanart! Can you imagine that? I personally love it more that I have words to describe
> 
> My family got mad at me because I would not shut up about people liking my story. I was that excited, you would have thought that I got a new puppy or something.
> 
> Thank you to each and every one of the people reading this, if you wanna let me know you liked this, you can by leaving a kudos or by writing a comment.
> 
> Critisism is also welcomed, just don't be super mean I'm squishy


	18. Lie to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not nice and neat, can they ever have a day where one or both of them isn't low level freaking out?

It was surreal when Hanzo woke slowly for the first time in the history of them being roommates.

He looked at his comm, laying on the pillow next to him, its display too bright against his heavy eyes. Jesse pulled the blanket up around his head, shut his comm's screen off before covering his eyes fully.  
He spent an indeterminable amount of time dozing, a knife edge away from true sleep and miles away from full alertness.

It was rare to actually doze, but Jesse didn't mind at all or move to get up until eventually Hanzo himself started to sit up in bed. A new habit Jesse had collected since they started like this, now no longer wanting to be the first to rise.

Jesse allowed himself a numb moment of self-retrospective thought about the uneasiness of the day prior, about how Fareeha had called him from her mission in Oakarsis, how she had warned him that Ana would be coming back using the most vague terminology possible.

He allowed himself a moment to think about the encapsulating haze of sorrow that had consumed him only a few hours before. His heart felt empty and strangely shaped, but sleep had a wonderful way of placing the bits that had broken back into something closer to a fully formed man- and the dreams he had last night- the visions.

They were inexplicably helpful, as if he had no stress before sleeping, as if his mind didn't work against him at every turn.

Hanzo reattached his prosthetics with a long-suffering groan once they were on.

"You alright there pardner?" Jesse asked as he attached his own, his mind was clear enough to acknowledge that Hanzo typically didn't verbalize discomfort.

"How human of me- I sleep in sometimes."

  
He smiled privately at the grumpy tone Hanzo used. The man was incredibly attached to habit, most likely disappointed for having slept in.

"I am glad to see you did not jump off of any tall buildings or bridges while I slept." Hanzo began his stretches in the dark.

It was a joke, but not the kind that warranted a laugh.

  
It barely even passed as a joke, even considering Hanzo's eclectic sense of humor. Jesse hummed distractedly as he crossed the room, thinking of what the upcoming week would entail. Then considering the words, like he had just heard them, he turned his head towards the curtain.

Hanzo Shimada was an enigma, his powers not well documented, and they certainly would never be if anyone let him continue having his way about it.

  
Jesse reminded himself that the incredible was always possible.

"Had a dream about falling off a bridge."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Your dragons were there," his voice held a poker face as he spoke.

"What a terrible dream."

Jesse reached a hand to the middle of his back, twisting but unable to reach the spot in the same way.

"I didn't jump," Jesse muttered, he wasn't certain Hanzo could hear.

He had half a mind to walk over to the other side even though he stood in sleep clothes, his hair still a mess.

"Come again?"

He cleared his throat as he tried to tame his bedhead. "We need ta talk."

He heard the rustling of Hanzo's duffel bag. "Give me a moment and we can."

Standing there felt oddly like being watched- no, it felt like being listened to, the cavernous quiet of the room amplifying the noise of cloth and the silence itself. He grabbed a piece of gum to chew on, the taste of cinnamon waking him further.

He picked up his holster belt off of its hook, grabbing the other holster for his mother's gun, Harbinger. He never spoke the name out loud any more, but it seemed appropriate to silently remind himself now.  
He knew it was a bad idea, but Jesse knocked on the door frame regardless.

"Yes, I am decent, you may enter," Hanzo finished his sentence even though Jesse was already staring at him from the archway, still in his pajamas and holding his empty holsters in his prosthetic.

"I need my weapons back," He said conversationally as he placed his left forearm against the yellow trim, his body slanting with it. His other hand came down to frame a belt buckle that wasn't there.  
Hanzo nodded.

"And I wanna know why I happened to dream of your dragons in a Japanese village I ain't never visited." He shuttered off his face, lips flat, muscles relaxed, nearly unreadable.

He knew damn well how to do it, but reminding himself of the steps stopped that little voice in his head from wandering off to thoughts he didn't want to touch just yet. Kept them from drifting off to a level of irritation that'd pique Deadeye's interest.

"So many demands so early in the morning," Hanzo complained as he turned to his bedside table to comply to returning his guns. "Do you think I have insight into your subconcious?"

His eyes focused on the snarl that was Hanzo's, flicked his gaze down to the swinging open cylinder of the gun. Hanzo wrapped his hand around the top part of the frame and offered the butt end of it to Jesse. Careful, precise, reverent. Damn good man, but too calculatedly casual when telling small lies to Jesse.

"I didn't jump off of any bridges-" Jesse repeated, tone alight with a good natured challenge. "I was pushed- and you absolutely know something about my dream last night."

Hanzo wiggled the gun slightly, his eyebrow arching in a over exaggerated look. "Would you like to talk with Zenyatta? Your ramblings are becoming more delusional."

"You're absolute shit at lying to me," Jesse countered, his voice icier and more syllable-sliced with each word. "Do you want to answer that long-standing question of why you can't lie to me for whatever reason or would ya like to answer my newest one?"

Hanzo huffed as Jesse finally took his gun, softly flicking the cylinder back into place and setting it into his holster. "You are using me as a diversion."

"Wrong," Jesse sing-songed as he stood straight once again.

"I have no issues lying to you," Hanzo grit out, his face pinching in a wince. "However, I am telling the truth."

Jesse forced himself to restrain a sigh. "I think ya do struggle, Hanzo, and I ain't got the slightest clue why but it's insultin' for you to think that I can't tell that you're lying to my face at this very moment."

Hanzo clenched his jaw and looked away.

"Ya look like you're in pain, bud," Jesse pointed out. "Just tell the truth."

"You are mistaken."

Hanzo's face morphed into unabashed horror, but Jesse couldn't see the cause.

Trembles shot up Hanzo's body, like something from within was trying to tear itself out of his skin. Precisely that.

Jesse let himself drop the remnants of his mask to look at Hanzo with worried eyes. "You're shaking."

"Ignore it."

"Ignore it?" Jesse lowered his holster down onto the ground and shuffled closer. "Hey, it's alright."

"I-" Hanzo hesitated, looking away again. "Do not touch me- it will pass."

"Just tell me what's going on," Jesse pressed, keeping his hands to himself. "Tell me how to help."

"Spiritual intervention that is unwanted and unwarranted," Hanzo hissed at him, his skin of his arm gaining a brightness to it, his hands clenching. "Back away."

"You're..."

Hanzo screwed his eyes shut, wrapped a hand around his trembling left bicep as electric blue arches of energy poured out from it. "The glowing happens."

He looked like he fought to keep his composure the same as someone would try to keep water in a colander. "They have been making it painful to lie to you."

"Is it because they haven't been released in a while?" Jesse asked, knowing the answer well before having to ask. "Just be straight with me for a minute."

"How can I be straight?" Hanzo snorted, plastering on an insincere smile. "I am the antithesis of straight."

"Was that a joke?" Jesse was thrown off guard, blurting the first thing his mind caught.

Hanzo opened his eyes again, they were electric blue and flickering. "I wanted to lighten the mood."

"Let's get you somewhere before you hurt yourself trying to fight ‘em" Jesse suggested, picking up his other gun and his holster.

Hanzo seemed to be hyper aware of the placement of his feet as they walked, staring down at them with each step. Jesse's hand hovered above the middle of his back, ready to steady him. In the span of their silent walk, the shaking only barely subsided.

They got to Hangar 18, and like water bursting from a damn, Hanzo's dragons roared out of his skin. Literally roared.

They turned to Hanzo, their faces seemingly angry. Jesse spoke before his mind could catch up.

"Dear Honorable Spirits," Jesse started, voice loud but warmed with a strange breed of fondness, "Stop beating up on your shithead master, it ain't a big deal."

"Jesse," Hanzo warned in a hiss.

One of the dragons growled low at him.

"Nah." He shook his head, already too far up shit creek without a paddle. "I've got one supernatural phenomena interfering with my personal life, I don't need an additional two, if you'd please."

The dragons made a string of unpleased chirps, a noise that rose at the end. They growled, half twisting over each other, a far cry from the sophisticated speech in Jesse's dream last night.

"You knock it off," Jesse warned. "I respect you a whole lot, even if I'm angry with ya right now, but you messing with Hanzo on my account ain't something that'll benefit anyone."

The dragons huffed and turned away, one moved to perch its large body on the hull of the Aurora ship.

Hanzo sprawled out onto the hangar floor before neatly placing his hands onto his stomach, one leg bending.

  
Jesse followed suit, though he took up more space.

"I remember our first meeting in here." Hanzo's voice was a quiet whisper, barely reaching across the small distance between them.

"Yeah," Jesse replied, his voice high and tiny. "I'm sorry bout that whole beginnin', I ain't properly 'pologized for it yet."

"You have."

"Hanzo," Jesse started. "You don't get it- I was-"

He cut himself off by rubbing his cheek with one hand. "I'm a damn hypocrite for holding the past against ya, same with holding you lyin' ta me against ya."

"What have you lied about?" Hanzo asked, moving in Jesse's peripheral vision.

"Nothin' I won't continue to lie about," Jesse admitted with a considering hum at the end. "Though I suppose it'd be safe enough to tell ya if I could."

"Will we ever tell the truth?" Hanzo asked rhetorically.

Jesse leaned up on his elbows to watch the dragons bat at each other and float around the large area.

"Here, I'll make it easy- Lie to me."

He slowly laid back down soon after, content that the dragons wouldn't come over.

"Positively childish."

"I'll lie too."

Hanzo huffed. "Insurmountably juvenile."

"If it's the only way our stupidly large egos let us tell the truth-" Jesse said, touching his mother's gun as it laid in its holster next to him- "then I guess I don't mind it."

Hanzo was quiet for several beats of time, the only noise being the chirps of his dragons as they played.

"I do not consider you a genuine friend."

The phrase was still kind of shocking, and for a split second Jesse forgot the underlying meaning.

"I don't consider you one either," he said, and his tone definitely did not match the words being spoken. He couldn't help the smile that had creeped into it.

Hanzo swallowed thickly and then halfheartedly coughed. "I am not absolutely terrified of this."

"I am," he said in response, entirely unsurprised. "I suppose- since we are still lying."

"Is the last part of that statement a lie?" Hanzo asked.

He smiled. "I dunno, it's gotten a bit confusing now."

"Then we should stop lying."

"Maybe we should."

Hanzo kept his gaze up at the distant ceiling. "So you are not afraid?"

"No, I ain't scared of it, I appreciate our..."

Jesse trailed off growing more and more irritated with each passing moment of his own tongue-tied silence.

  
"Did you forget a word?" Hanzo had a smug tilt to his face.

"It disappeared."

"Friendship?"

"Not that one," Jesse mumbled. "Though I suppose it works plenty fine- I appreciate our friendship, yeah."

Hanzo was silent for a long stretch of time. So long that Jesse considered that it was the end of their talk, or that Hanzo was trying to make him say more.

"I appreciate it as well."

Jesse felt himself smile as he stared up at the hangar ceiling. "That's good."

Hanzo tucked his arms and legs in and kinda jumped, kinda rolled into a crouched position, causing Jesse to have to sit up to look at him.

"Why're ya getting up?"

"I wished to say something." Hanzo moved further back.

"What?"

"Your breath is vile."

Jesse couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him as he leaned backwards. "Nice try darling, I know it ain't, you're just embarrassed."

"Did you just call me 'darling'?"

"Did I?" Jesse asked, not fully aware that he had. "Well now."

"'Darling'?" Hanzo repeated, his voice rough. "How incredibly patronizing."

"So I use nicknames, sometimes, it don't mean nothing more then that we're friendly," Jesse defended. "Ain't meaning to insult you or sound patronizing."

Hanzo made a noise that could be taken as an understanding, but his eyes flicked only once to the door and then to his dragons twirling around eachother, biting, and making indecipherable noises.

"I had wanted to make you a nickname playing off of a pun, but all the ones I've come up with would've made ya mad," he told him as they made eye contact again.

"Remind me-" Hanzo's eyes became unreadable again- "darling is a pet name, correct?"

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. "I ain't using it like one though."

"Please explain how you are using it then," Hanzo crossed his arms, sliding his knee down to the floor from his crouched position to sit into a cross legged one instead.

"The same way I'd use it with anyone else?" Jesse stated, tilting the last words to convey his confusion. "Won't happen again if it makes ya uncomfortable."

“I did not expect it,” he admitted. "I suppose it is just part of your southern charm."

"Are ya implying I'm charming?"

Hanzo simply laughed in response. The hangar echoed the noise slightly, hanging Jesse in the open air of the large space, the dragons turning to look anywhere but at them.

The awkward balm of warmth the moment offered refused to fade, but it turned into something else, morphing into concern.

"Hanzo," he started. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine," Hanzo said, sincerely enough for him to believe it. "I am more so worried for you, given recent events."

"I should be okay," Jesse assured. "It'll be a rough couple of weeks for a while, but I should be fine."

"The dragons are incredibly concerned for you."

"Mighty kind of them," he said. "They were actually there, in that dream- vision thing, wasn't they?"

"They were, yes."

"And you were too?"

Hanzo huffed a defeated sigh in response to his dragons roaring quietly across the hangar. "I was."

"Why the hell couldn't I see you then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it takes 18 chapters for them to admit that they are friends does it count as a slow burn or is it glacial???
> 
>  
> 
> I meant to post this sooner. My mental health went and plummeted at the tail end of February and I've since realized that I put far too much of my recent situation into this chapter when I was editing it, but its ok.
> 
> I'm also working on a thing for my creative writing class that is really draining me, so I'm putting this out there before I can second guess myself and delete it.
> 
> Anyways, I made a tumblr for y'all because people asked. Tumblr is still just as terrible as I remember from 2013. I've seen 7 bots in two days. I really have _not_ been reblogging only mchanzo stuff so if you go there be prepared for just random stuff that inspired me and also updates about my stories occasionally, as well as some mchanzo sprinkled in it.
> 
>  
> 
> carryon-carryout is my username


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